


And His Smile Became Like a Stranger's

by Majikthise



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amnesia fic, Assumed rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just whole lot of hurt before the comfort, rape fantasy/roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majikthise/pseuds/Majikthise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos wakes up in bed with the radio announcer who has been obsessing over him ever since he came to Night Vale. He is naked and in pain with no memory how he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up

**Author's Note:**

> Okay there is graphic description of sexual molestation that could be a trigger, so please keep that in mind. Also, this fic goes through a rather realistic process of the aftermath of rape as well. I swear it isn't all bad things. Until WTNV I had never written tentacle fics or non con fics ever. Now I've done both. Oh man. Comments are love.
> 
> This was written to fill this prompt [at Dreamwidth.](http://nightvalecommunitykink.dreamwidth.org/822.html?thread=641078#cmt641078)

Carlos wakes up. And for one brief instance everything feels perfect, and then in the very next, nothing does. His eyes are still shut but pain radiates off him in waves. His right arm throbs and is wrenched up at an awkward angle. However, most of the pain is emanating from… _well, from where it has no business to be emanating from_. Given the fact, that all he did yesterday were some typical experiments. _Right?_ He suddenly realizes he can’t remember what he did yesterday or even going to bed that night.  
  
His reconstruction is abruptly cut short when a warm body shifts next to him. It nuzzles its face into his left side, wrapping one arm around his waist, as the other cards through his thick dark hair. Carlos prays that this is some elaborate prank his lab mates, who still act like they live in a frat house, are playing on him.  
  
He opens his eyes only to find the creepy radio show host pressed against him... _naked_. And Carlos notes, with growing fear, so is he. He lets out an involuntary high-pitched noise of distress making the radio host stir slightly, opening his electric blue eyes. Carlos shoves him and jumps off the bed fully intending to make a run for it. But something yanks hard on his right wrist, causing him to instead fall off the bed. He crashes hard into the wall before he is able to right himself and scramble back into a standing position. The scientific part of him observes his problem in a detached clinical manner—his right wrist is handcuffed to the bedpost.  
  
Carlos pulls and tugs as hard as he can, desperately trying to break free. But the handcuff, unbeknownst to Carlos, is the same brand that the Sheriff’s Secret Police carry and only opens when the correct incantation is chanted.  
  
Cecil, unperturbed by the rude awakening, is clearly enjoying the show Carlos is giving him. Cecil's expression is full of a love and tenderness that makes no sense to Carlos, who struggles even harder with the cuff.  
  
“Mmmmmm,” Cecil licks his lips, “did anyone ever tell you how sexy you look when you are trying to escape?”  
  
Carlos’ only thought is a one long scream that can’t find its way out.

  
“I should put your other hand back in that handcuff shouldn’t I? That’s what you want me to do isn’t it?”  
  
 _No! No! No!_ That is exactly the opposite of what Carlos wants. Maybe he can somehow reason with this deranged man or get him to let him go. In the past, the radio host had always seemed willing to please Carlos. “Hey, Cecil, listen. It is Cecil, right? Cecil, please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even go to the Sheriff’s Secret Police Force or whatever they’re called. I won’t press charges, I’ll just leave. I swear.” There are tears running down his face, but he can’t connect any emotion to them except the overwhelming fight or flight response. And from where he stands, he is in no position to fight.  
  
Cecil slowly smiles, a full smile, a smile full of fangs, “Well, aren’t you the perfect actor? Last night was something else, but now this? Are you sure you never acted before? Because as I've told you before, I played Pippin in our high school performance of—"  
  
Carlos whimpers. This man before him is utterly insane. He has fangs, blue eyes that are now emitting a faint glowing, these deep purple tattoos that swirl and ripple over his skin like water, and he is speaking pure nonsense. “Please, I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m not acting! I mean it! I really won’t tell anyone, I won’t! I don’t have much money, but you can have it all, and—uh—my car, my—my lab equipment just please—let me go!”  
  
Cecil’s smile grows more predatory, “You’re so right. Look at me blabbing away, while you are still in character. I did tell you I'd never did this before. Forgive me, my dear Carlos.”  
  
He gets out of the bed and slowly circles it to where Carlos is now cowering. His voice goes deep, even deeper and silkier then his radio voice. “Oh Carlos, as if you don’t know that the Sheriff’s Secret Police are watching us right now. And they aren’t going to do a thing to help you. Because they know you. They know whose you are. You are mine.” He literally growls the last word. Carlos eyes cast about widely for anything to use as a weapon, but find nothing. “And to think that you thought you could simply bribe me with some of your Erlenmeyer flasks? _Please!_ ” Cecil continues, “No, no. I don’t want any of your material possessions. I just want to possess you.” He is mere inches from Carlos, leaning even closer and still smiling.  
  
“ _Please…no_.” Carlos says his voice no more than a frightened whisper.  
  
Cecil tilts Carlos’ head up and begins kissing and sucking the side of his neck. Nipping it occasionally with his fangs, causing minor bleeding. Carlos’ free hand shoots out, but Cecil is too quick, easily catching it and forcing it above Carlos’ head. “Now, now, Carlos. We’ll save the rough stuff till after lunch. Hmmm?” He continues kissing Carlos in all of his sensitive spots, touching him in every place Carlos loves—scratch that—loved to be touched before this. The fact the Cecil somehow knows just what to do and where to touch forces the vulnerability that Carlos already feels bone deep. He whimpers again.  
  
“That’s right. It’s okay to like it, Carlos. I know it feels good. I know that this is what you want.”  
  
Carlos hears himself chanting a litany of “No” and “Please stop, please”, but Cecil continues. He slides one hand down Carlos’ backside and presses a finger against the abused ring of muscle there. Carlos bites his lip, afraid to scream, afraid to move. Cecil stills and just when Carlos thinks he is going to withdraw, he presses in, and this time Carlos does scream.  
  
His mind is swimming. Since coming to Night Vale he had seen some of his team members die and others flee in terror. Carlos is not the type to quit, especially not when he has found the Mecca for all scientific oddities everywhere. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand the risks. He had thought that the extreme levels of radiation or the dead falling animals from the Glow Cloud or the hooded figures might be the thing to kill him.  
  
But no. It turns out it will be the radio host. The very one that Carlos had been slowly convincing himself that maybe wasn’t so much creepy, as charming. And maybe his stalkerish tendencies were really an overzealous enthusiasm. And his constant talk of Carlos’ hair wasn’t as obsessive, as it was sweet. But no. He is going to die here, after enduring who-knows-what sort of horrors.  
  
But the problem is Carlos actually does know. He has seen enough tragic news stories and movies. He understands this kind of death, and suddenly violently wishes that a pterodactyl would appear and gobble him up. Anything, _anything_ but this torture. He feels a hot liquid running down his thighs. The scientific part of his brain helpfully informs him that his fear has caused him to lose control of his bladder. He hangs his head feeling embarrassment, now, thrown on top of every other emotion.  
  
Cecil's other hand is stroking Carlos’ soft cock when it happens. His brings the soaking hand to his nose and sniffs and it is definitely urine. Cecil doesn't understand, on the list of kinks that he and Carlos had shared, watersports was one they both found to be a total turnoff. So is Carlos changing the rules of the game or-  
  
He looks at Carlos, who is doing his best at trying to seem as small as possible, and he sees real terror in his eyes. He has seen Carlos scared plenty of times, but never has he seen such fear and never was it directed at Cecil, himself.  
  
“Uh, Carlos? Did you forget the safeword?” Cecil asks unsure what is going on.  
  
Carlos is even more confused. _Safeword? Wouldn’t that imply that this was consensual?_ Unless Cecil is so crazy that he views _this_ as consensual. Or maybe, somehow, this is considered consensual for Night Vale. The gears in his brain turn quickly and he nods slowly, “Uh, yeah I guess I did.”  
  
Cecil sighs, looking utterly relieved. “Carlos, my love! I’m so sorry! You had me scared. Okay let’s stop and get you cleaned up. ” He gives Carlos a quick kiss and doesn’t notice Carlos tense at his touch. “You’ll have to tell me where it went wrong and we don’t have to do anything like that again. I mean, I know it was your idea to do this initially, but we absolutely never have to do this again. I didn’t hurt you did I? I just couldn’t live with myself if-”  
  
“Cecil?” Carlos manages to get out sounding fairly normal. He does not know what this clearly unhinged man is ranting about, but he needs it to stop. He needs to escape.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“The handcuff?” Carlos waves his wrist weakly, grimacing from the pain.  
Cecil looks at the handcuffs and chuckles, “Of course! How silly of me.”  
  
Cecil whispers the incantation. The moment the cuff opens, Cecil gets a hard kick to the gut and a punch in the face hitting the cartilage of his nose. In total shock and blinded by pain, Cecil doesn’t even feel the cuff locking his wrist back to the bedpost.  
  
Carlos sees his car from the living room window and runs about like mad looking for his keys, knowing he has mere seconds. He finds them, oddly enough, hung up on the key rack. Despite being completely naked he runs outside and jumps into his Prius and floors it out of the neighborhood. Out of Night Vale. Just away.


	2. Fog

Normally a cautious driver, Carlos is speeding and barely heeding the traffic signs or laws. He is on high alert; afraid the Sheriff’s Secret Police will pull him over, afraid Cecil is following him, and well, just afraid.

After the _Welcome to Night Vale_ sign is a good half-hour behind him, he feels safe enough to pull over and grab his spare lab coat from the back seat. He always keeps one in the car in case of emergencies. He never imagined that this would be the sort of emergency he would be using it for, but still, it serves its purpose.  Once he is covered, he looks at his face in his sun visor mirror and immediately concludes that that was a bad idea. He looks terrified, much too pale, hair a wreck. He sees bruises trailing down his neck and onto his collar bone. Dark bursts of purple peak out from beneath the collar of his lab coat, suggesting that the bruising may be covering his entire body.  He quickly buttons his lab coat all the way up. 

He needs to get a hold of his fellow scientists and at least let them know he won’t be in to work today and warn them about a possible stalker. Without thinking he reaches into his pocket for his phone, only to realize that since he just put the lab coat on so of course it doesn’t have his phone in it. _His phone!_   He hunts through the car, but there is no sign of it. Cecil probably has it. Carlos hugs himself. If possible, he feels even more violated now that Cecil has access to his phone, his contacts, his email, his everything.

Just then a car speeds past and Carlos freezes, watching it with fearful eyes. He does not breathe or move till the car is out of sight. He lets out a shaky breath. It wasn’t Cecil or the police coming after him. It was just an ordinary car. He looks around him warily and decides he is still much too close to Night Vale. He turns back on the Prius and floors it, practically fishtailing on the sand that had built up on the shoulder of the road.

Cecil sits on the bed, cupping his hands around his nose, catching the blood. He calls out to Carlos in vain. He knows Carlos has left, but he can’t understand why. Part of him thinks maybe it is one of those weird outsider things that Carlos sometimes does. When he can finally see straight, Cecil gets up and goes to the front bay window of their living room. The Prius is gone. Carlos really had fled naked from their home. But why?

Carlos drives for what feels like hours. The next town he passes is called Desert Bluffs, but something about it fills Carlos with a cold dread; so he doesn’t stop.  He goes and goes, until he enters what finally feels like a normal city.  To test this theory, he turns on his GPS, which doesn’t function properly in Night Vale. It just plays an animated cartoon of a spider running across the screen over and over again. But here it connects showing him a real map for the first time in months. With shaking fingers, he types in hospital and takes himself to the nearest emergency room.

Cecil runs to Carlos’ computer and pulls up the folder that Carlos insisted they make to keep all their “data” on sex in. He runs through the chart Carlos created of their kinks. Maybe, he had forgotten something. But Cecil finds water sports clearly in the “No” column and nowhere does he find mention of a fantasy involving beating up your boyfriend and then running away naked. Cecil is officially freaked out. He grabs his phone and calls Carlos. He hears the song, "Whatta Man" by Salt n' Pepa, play in the other room, which is the ringtone he programmed into Carlos’ phone for himself. He watches the phone light up on the dining room table while the blood slowly dries on his face.

Carlos walks into the ER barefoot and wearing only a lab coat. Everyone stares at him, even the girl with the bloodshot, oozing, and mostly swollen eyes. He blushes and explains to the admitting nurse in hushed tones what happened. She seems rather uninterested, but does put him on the Fast Track, so he doesn’t have to wait very long. In less than half an hour, he is in a private room waiting for the doctor.

Cecil rushes around, getting dressed and cursing to himself for selling his car. At the time, it made the most sense since Carlos’ car was the better more economical choice, and that money helped pay for their house. But Cecil has a bad bad feeling that Carlos hasn't just fled their house, but that he has left Night Vale entirely. Cecil’s rickety old bike is not good enough to journey outside of town. He remembers trying to run away from home when he was little, the moment he left Night Vale the tires of his tricycle caught on fire and when he jumped off of it so did his shoes. Despite his misgivings, he cannot just sit there hoping for Carlos’ swift return. Cecil jumps on his bike and heads to Carlos’ lab.

Carlos stares out the window of the hospital room. He watches the seagulls circling the parking lot looking for scraps. Wondering how they got all the way out here with no sea for hundreds of miles in any direction. So absorbed is he in his observations that he doesn’t hear the two doctors come in, nor when they speak to him. However, the moment one places a light hand on his shoulder he jumps a mile falling off of the bed and scurrying to the corner of the room.

“Oh my God! I am so sorry, uh,” She looks at her chart, “Carlos. We are here to help you today. Do you know where you are?”

Carlos snorts. Of course he does! He admitted himself into the hospital after all. Because he was…raped…by Cecil. He looks at the doctor and nods morosely.

“Okay would you mind coming back over here? I promise no one will touch you again without your consent.”

Carlos rises from the linoleum, shuffling zombie-like back to the bed and sits on the edge. Despite the softness of the mattress, the act of sitting causes a flair of pain making Carlos feel so disgusting and dirty. He wants to just walk out the door and leave these poor women alone.

The doctor must catch his look and speaks again, “Firstly, you are so brave for coming here. Rape goes unreported all the time, especially when the victim is male. It is good you came in, Carlos. I am Emma and this is Carmita." 

Carmita steps forward giving Carlos a soft, but not pitying smile, “Hello.”

Carlos tries to smile back, but thinks it looks more like a grimace, “Hi.”

“Everything we will do here today is confidential. If you decide against pressing charges, that is your right. But we do everything here as prescribed by the law, so whatever evidence we find will hold up in court, okay?”

“Evidence?” Carlos asks meekly.

“DNA from your attacker in the form of hair, blood, or possibly semen.” Carmita explains.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Carlos shifts his legs, unconsciously crossing them tightly together and mentally berating himself. He knew what she meant by evidence, yet his brain feels like is made of mush.

Emma pulls a chair over and sits across from Carlos. “First we gotta ask you some questions. They are not the kind you want to answer, but this will help us to help you better. Okay?"

Carlos nods.

“Have you showered, washed your hands, used the bathroom, or otherwise cleaned yourself since the incident?”

Carlos shakes his head, “Well, no except that… that I… well, this morning he came at me and I tried to run. I did! But I was handcuffed to the bed and all my struggling seemed to uh—excite him. And when he started—he started touching me… I, uh, well, I pissed myself. Oh God!” Carlos throws his hands to his eyes and begins sobbing. His body shakes with the force of them, but almost as suddenly as they appear they vanish leaving a numb feeling. He uncovers his eyes. The doctors are still there.

“Carlos, that is perfectly normal reaction it happens all the time to people in these types of situations.”

Carlos nods, but feels no better.

“What do you remember about what happened?”

“Nothing, I—I only remember waking up this morning handcuffed to his bed.”

“Would you mind going over that with us?”

“No, that’s fine.” Carlos says wearily.

Meanwhile, Cecil cannot find Carlos anywhere. He was not in his lab, Mission Grove Park, Radon Canyon, the Pinkberry, the Arby’s, Big Rico’s, the Ralph’s, and Old Woman Josie doesn’t know anything. She did say she would ask her angel friends about it. And now it is almost air time. Cecil sits in his studio, head in his hands feeling like the absolute worst person ever. What had he done to inspire that much fear in his beloved?

Cecil had been very nervous the night before. Carlos had shared with him these rape fantasies some time ago. At the time, Cecil had vehemently objected to ever taking part in something like that. But over time Carlos was able to explain that what drew him to those fantasies wasn’t being hurt, but just the inevitability of it—the lack of control. He had never acted them out before. He had never really had a boyfriend until Cecil. But Carlos trusted Cecil and Cecil has always been willing to please Carlos. So they created a safeword, “Mountains” and bought handcuffs and had a pretty epic night. Cecil catches himself getting turned on and immediately feels ashamed. Ugh, somewhere Carlos is driving around naked and afraid—and here is Cecil sitting in his booth getting off on last night. Not good. He shuffles the day’s reports in his hands and something catches his attention.

Carlos is in a hospital gown, his lab coat taken away as evidence. He has had blood drawn and his genitals and anus thoroughly inspected and samples taken from everywhere. Carlos thinks bitterly that he suddenly understands why rape is so under-reported. He didn’t know it was possible to feel even more violated on top of this, but it is.

They give him an IV and put Ativan in it. Despite all the sitting he has been doing and feeling so numb, apparently his heart rate is through the roof and not coming down. They need to slow it a bit. The side effects of the Ativan are feeling relaxed and falling asleep. This is something Carlos can whole-heartedly agree to. He drifts off to sleep listening to the equipment humming and beeping and can almost convince himself that he is back in his lab.

Cecil reads the report a second time, realization biting into him with sharp fangs. He glances up, just as the on air sign blinks to life. “Listeners, please forgive my lack of a proper introduction, but something big is going on in our fair town. Big and terrible.”

“There is a fog in Night Vale. It has been seen in the early morning and late night hours. It hangs thick and ominous and is a pale maroon color. Do not enter that fog, listeners. It is no ordinary fog. According to reports those that enter the fog appear fine, at first. But hours later they enter a fugue state. In some cases not remembering who they, themselves are, or who anyone around them is. And in others forgetting major chunks of their lives or their…their loved ones. *clears throat* It is unclear exactly how much memory is lost, being that everyone who has experienced it are so disoriented and all declined to be interviewed. We have no way to guard against it and no way to know how long the fugue will last, if, in fact, it will ever go away again.”

“My lovely Carlos was accosted by this fog last night.  I remember him mentioning it when he came home last night with our week’s mandatory slices of Big Rico’s Pizza. Oh! If only I knew then what I do now. Listeners, Carlos fled our house this morning in a state of extreme fear and—errr—undress. He didn’t know me. He took our car and I have looked everywhere. If anyone knows where he went or what direction he was headed, please, call or e-mail or Facebook us immediately.”

Carlos awakes, confused for a moment, before it all comes flooding back. He still doesn’t remember anything about the night before. It scares him. He has never repressed anything before. Of course, he had never had anything this traumatic happen to him before.  But he’s a scientist and has to rely on his senses and trust his perceptions. Suddenly not being able to trust them causes him to wish fervently that someone will up his Ativan intake so he can pass out again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm a psych major and it totally comes through in all my fics, but especieally in this one. A [fugue state](//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fugue_stat).http: is a real thing. The wikipedia arcticle I link to cites the DSM-IV, so it is out-of-date, but should still be mostly accurate. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and Kudos and reading this fic. I was rather nervous posting it, still am a bit. I do not take this topic lightly in the slightest. And am endeavoring to reflect that in my writing of Carlos's reaction.


	3. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos can only go through so much before he hits a breaking point. Cecil puts together the pieces to find his boyfriend.

Carmita and Emma enter Carlos’ room in the early afternoon. Carlos was in the shower almost the whole time they were gone. His skin is red and raw from where he scrubbed it. His hair drips onto the fabric hospital gown. The skin on his fingers and feet utterly pruned.

“We could get you a hairdryer.” Carmita offers.

Carlos shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying around him, “Just tell me what you found.”

 “Well,” begins Emma, “before we go over what we found, we need some clarification.”

“Okay.” Carlos says, mentally bracing himself.

“You told us you were a virgin.” Emma says.

“Yes. I mean, I have never been on the giving or receiving end of penetrative sex.”

“Okay, but you have experimented with toys?”

 Carlos blushes, stammering, “No! No! I—I well, I’ve thought about it. You know. It’s only normal to think about that sort of thing. But I’ve never done it.”

“And you said you are not currently in any type of physical relationship?” Emma asks.

“No I’m not.”

The doctors exchange perplexed looks. Carmita ventures, “Have you ever been raped before?”

“What? No! No way! Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“Well, the bruising we found. Some of them were new. But others were days old and some more like weeks. Most of them look like they were caused when a person sucks on the other person’s skin bursting the capillaries. Though some of the bruises were formed by other means, but their location suggests that they were sexual in nature as well.”

“What are you trying to say?” Carlos asks defensively.

“We aren’t trying to say anything. We are just telling you the results and they just don’t seem to jive with what you told us.

 “This is absurd! You must have mixed up all those pictures and samples you took with someone else.”

“We triple checked. We are certain. Also, we found no drugs in your system. But most drugs that are used in rape cases leave the system pretty quickly. We did find semen and hair samples that are from the same man. However, there is no evidence to suggest he used force.”

“What?” Carlos asks, feeling as though the IV is suddenly pumping ice into his veins.

“Your injuries are not consistent with rape. There are no rips, tears bruising anywhere in or around your anus or penis and scrotum. There is no sign of force. But, you did urinate before you came to us, which means it is a very high possibility you were drugged.” Emma responds in a sympathetic tone.

“And memory loss is common when drugs are used.” Carmita adds.

Carlos is still stuck on the phrases “not consistent with rape”. “You’re saying I asked for this!?” Carlos shrieks unable to stop his hands from shaking.

Carmita answers, “What? No! We are not saying that at all. Please, do not think that. We are just trying to put the pieces together and figure out what happened.”

“So you think I’m lying then?”

“No! We think you have experienced a horrible trauma and that you have major gaps in your memory. Do you know what day is it?” She asks abruptly trying to derail Carlos’ current thought process.

“Uh let’s see well yesterday was the 31st so today is the first. Right?”

 “The first of what month?”

“August.”

Carmita frowns, “What year?”

“2012. Okay, can we get back to my results now? I think you need to redo them and……” Carlos notices the concerned looks etched on each doctors’ faces. “What?”

“Carlos, it’s November 1st of 2015.” Carmita says softly.

“What? No, no it can’t be.” Carlos whispers and then yells pointing a shaking finger, “You’re wrong it can’t be!”

“We know this is very difficult, but we will help –“

Carlos stands ripping out the IV. “No, I’m leaving. I’ll figure this out on my own! You’re wrong about me and you’re wrong about the date!” He shoves past the doctors and stops at the door. He then turns and addresses them. “There is no need for me to be your patient, since I obviously was asking for it, what with my hair being _so perfect_ and all. And apparently I have been having kinky sex with him and anyone, hell, everyone, for over two years that I don’t remember.” Carlos rants as he clutches his arm to stem the flow of blood from where he had ripped the IV out.

“That’s not what we meant, Carlos. Please we believe that you were raped.” Carmita implores.

“Believe? Believe! Not know? Oh right! Your so-called evidence doesn’t support me.  I’m not a liar. I’m not a slut. I’m a scientist! I arrived in Night Vale for research only! And—And” Carlos breaks into hysterical laughter. Nothing is making any sense and for some reason he suddenly finds it all very hilarious.

Emma calls a code and a large nurse comes in holding a syringe.  Carlos can’t stop laughing. He pushes the nurse hard and runs into the hallway laughing and trying to make his way back to his car, despite only wearing a hospital gown. He doesn’t hear them telling him to come back or calm down. His brain is skipping. All he can think is how funny it is that he finally had sex with someone and has no memory except pain and fear. “Welcome to Night Vale, indeed.” He mutters and then falls to his knees, bursting into renewed peals of laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks.  He doesn’t feel the prick of the needle or the arms wrap around him to keep him from hitting the ground as he slips into unconsciousness.

Steve Carlsberg emails the radio station, saying that he saw Carlos’ Prius driving north away of town. Thank goodness, the weather is on when Cecil reads this so that the town doesn’t hear his myriad of curses. How does Steve know what their car looks like anyway? Why is he even paying attention? That jerk is probably just sooo jealous of Cecil because of his amazing boyfriend, voice, and life in general that he can’t help, but watch them with pathetically dull green eyes. No one had duller and more red-rimmed eyes than Steve. _Ugh._ Cecil feels disgusted, but he receives a few more e-mails confirming what Steve’s has said. He decides to not recommend that the City Council re-educate Steve about keeping a polite distance from people and to stay the hell away from him and Carlos because of the honesty in the e-mail. Cecil smiles—pleased with his generosity —even if the recipient totally doesn’t deserve it.

The weather ends and Cecil picks up the latest report left on his desk. “Listeners, it appears that the Glow Cloud is in an uproar over this fugue causing fog. The Glow Cloud has issued a statement that the fog is a distant cousin of his that no one in the family likes. The Glow Cloud said that it would personally be dealing with the Fugue Fog, as it is known, and getting it out of our town ASAP. Also, the Glow Cloud said it will be reversing the fugue by striking those who have been hit with lightning. Don’t worry the Glow Cloud has ensured us that this lightning will not damage the person in any way. Although this does not count the damage it is doing by helping you remember your dreadful wasted lives.”

“Listeners, we are again reminded how thoughtful the Glow Cloud is. How mighty the Glow Cloud is. How we all need to bow down. Bow down in our sad excuses for flesh suits and hail the almighty Glow Cloud. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD! ALL HAIL! *shakes head. disoriented for a moment* Also, Old Woman Josie has just e-mailed me, telling me that I can borrow her car in order to track down my beautiful, Carlos. As a reminder, Old Woman Josie’s car is actually the ambulance she was brought to Night Vale in, and one of the few vehicles to make successful trips to other towns and back again. Thank you, Old Woman Josie!”

Carlos wakes up with a mouth full of cotton and head buzzing like a halogen light. He rubs his eyes scratching his eyelid with the hospital bracelet. Right the hospital, he thinks. He glances to his right and finds his window has a view of a meadow. For some reason looking at the meadow causes him to think about meadows. Think deeply about them. He doesn’t want to, but can’t help it.

Carlos has been staring out the window for over an hour when Carmita walks by his room. Upon seeing him awake rushes in. “Thank goodness you’re awake. We had to sedate you after you pushed the nurse and stopped responding to us. They transferred you to the psychiatric unit to help you get back on your feet.”

Her voice snaps him back. He looks around uncertain as to what has just happened and what he had been thinking about. He doesn’t feel like it was anything good. “The psych unit? Why? I’m not crazy. Right?” He asks suddenly unsure, remembering his uncontrollable laughter attack.

“Not crazy. But the memory loss and the hysteria are serious. We didn’t feel comfortable letting you leave. Now, you are not imprisoned here. If you truly want to go and we don’t approve you have to wait 48 hours and you can make an appeal to be released. But we want to send you back out in the world without all this mystery surrounding what happened. Emma and I will be can stay with you while you are here, if you want us and we will make sure you get the best psychiatric care we have.”

Carlos feels overwhelmed and tired. He looks and the IV was back in, no doubt adding to his fatigue. “48 hours to appeal and perhaps get rejected? Nope, not imprisoned at all.”

At Carmita’s upset expression Carlos clarifies, “Uh, sorry that was just supposed to be a joke. I guess I’m just too tired. Though I’ve never been very good at jokes when I’m awake either. Ummm, I don’t really want to go back to Night Vale either, until I can remember. So I guess being here is okay.” Carlos pauses taking a steadying breath. “Could you tell that nurse I’m sorry, please? For pushing him. Also, Sorry for shoving you and Emma too. I normally am not like this at all. “

“I will and don’t worry both of us have had to deal with a lot worse than people shoving us. You’re a good guy, Carlos. We know that.” Carmita smiles.

“Also, I would like both of you to work with me. Since you both already know me so intimately.”

Carmita looks sad in response to the intended humor, before she gives a half-hearted chuckle. Carlos really wishes he could just go back to laughing again, that was easy. Taking this as his actual life and something he will have to deal with forever, that is hard.

 “You and the other doctors can help me remember, can’t they?” Carlos asks, hating how plaintively he sounds.

Carmita’s smile diminishes, but does not vanish, “I have seen people with issues similar to yours make a full recovery and we will be with you every step of the way there.”

Carlos nods and turns away. He listens to her footsteps leave and silently thanks the powers that be for giving him a single room.

After his broadcast, Cecil peddles to Old Woman Josie’s house as fast as he can. The ambulance is sitting out front already idling, with Old Woman Josie standing in front of it. Cecil gives her a big hug. “Thank you! Thank you!”  

“Oh, Cecil it’s no bother. Go and get your scientist and both of you come home in one piece, yeah?”

Cecil nods.

“Oh, I was talking to Erika about Carlos. Erika says that Carlos had made a general prayer that they had heard. Carlos had thanked them for a private room.”

Cecil mouths the words, “private room?” as a question.

“Yes, apparently he is in a hospital two towns over.”

“A hospital? Oh, Masters of us all, No! What’s wrong? Will he be okay?”

“Erika said that he was in pain, but mostly just confused and terrified. Go. Find him.”

Cecil wastes no more time, jumping in the ambulance and flooring it out of Night Vale.  Thankfully he has driven the ambulance before and turns on the sirens so he can speed with immunity. Cecil is tense while crossing the Night Vale city limits. Sure he had, obviously, left Night Vale before on his trip to Europe. But he hadn’t left the town before then or since.  Thankfully, he only experiences some minor turbulence, before the conditions clear fairly quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I may have taken some liberty with how quickly the Rape Kit results came back. But I am keeping it in the timeline of the day, so creative license. 
> 
> And it is not a typo that I said 2015. This is set two years in the future.
> 
> If anyone wants more information on Rape Kits, or on healing from rape or sexual abuse. Also, sexual assault kits exist as well. [This website](http://www.rainn.org/) pretty much has it all, only problem is that it is for Americans. Anyone who knows the sites for the other countries feel free to leave them in a comment.


	4. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil finally communicates with Carlos. Cecil learns that his own interpretation of the events that morning is horribly, horribly wrong.
> 
> Before things get better, they usually get worse. We are in the worse stage.

The next town Cecil passes is the ruin that is Desert Bluffs. Cecil allows himself a small chuckle. It is just as pathetic a dump as he always thought it would be. Who even needs one Pony Petting Station? Let alone 16 of them! And the ponies all look very unhappy and underfed. In fact, the whole town looks unhappy. Cecil figures they haven’t fared very well since the collapse of Strex Corp over a year ago now. Strex Corp really shouldn’t have underestimated them like they did.

The drive from Desert Bluffs to the next town is, thankfully, a quick one. Cecil asks for directions to the hospital inside the minimart at the first gas station he finds. His question is met with odd looks, which Cecil at first thinks is due to his Night Valian choice in dress.  Until he realizes it is more likely due to the fact that he pulled up in an ambulance, sirens blaring and lights blazing.

He jerks a thumb behind him towards the vehicle and chuckles.  “Uh, first day on the job.”

The man behind the counter speaks. “Well, I just hope nobody is dying in there!”

“What? Oh, of course not! I’m—I’m practicing. Yeah, I’m practicing getting the layout of the town so in a real emergency I’ll know where to go.”

They are skeptical, but the lie works well enough to get Cecil the directions he needs.  As he nears the hospital, he turns off his siren and lights and finds the lot where the ambulances are parked. He parks close enough to be in the lot, but far enough away that no one should try to take his ride.  He notices how much older and more beaten up his ambulance looks compared to the others. 

Emma comes in after a while to check on Carlos, who is staring out the window again in a trance. She walks over and stands between him and the window. He blinks a few times, as if  he is just waking up. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi, there. I hope you don’t mind, but me and Carmita bought you some clothes. We had to guess your size, but anything beats a hospital gown. Right?”

Carlos nods vigorously. Sitting up, his eye catches the window again. “Could you maybe pull down the shades? Something about the view…..isn’t right.”

Emma is uncertain what issue Carlos has, but quickly complies. Then she hauls a bag of clothes into the room.  “Anything that doesn’t work, just toss it back in the bag.”

“Okay,” says Carlos. “Thank you.”

“No problem, but first let me remove your IV. Your heart rate is back to where it should be.” After carefully unhooking Carlos, Emma leaves the room promising to be back in an hour or so. Carlos slowly begins to rifle through the bag of clothes.

Cecil gives himself a once-over, before heading into the hospital. He had been so frantic this morning that he had just haphazardly thrown on the first things he had grabbed.  He is wearing his favorite moccasins, his white and vivid blue UFO pants, and a bright lime-green sweater with festive snowmen all around the bottom of it. Cecil is a bit concerned that his outfit may draw unwanted looks.

Carlos had once told him how odd Night Valians dress on average as opposed to the rest of the country. Cecil had felt slightly hurt by this until Carlos sauntered up next to him, kissing him on the tip of his nose. “I think you look great in everything you wear. It’s just that, when you meet my family in December, I want them to focus on how amazing you are. And not get distracted by something as inconsequential as the fact that sometimes you wear sundresses.”

“What’s wrong with my sundresses?” Cecil had asked.

Carlos laughed, kissing him again this time on the lips. “Nothing, _mi vida_. Nothing. That’s my point.”

Cecil feels a sharp pang of sadness at the memory.  They were planning to visit Carlos’ family next month. Everything had been going so well **.** Or as well as an ultimately brief and futile existence spent scrambling for meaning in a series of random happenstances can go.

Carlos ends up choosing the clothes that are baggiest on him. Thankfully, the doctors know what they are doing and had brought mostly sweats. The hospital is air-conditioned and it is cold this time of year, even in the desert. Plus, Carlos just wants to hide, and the clothes at least give him a sort of shield. He puts on the deep-blue sweat pants and shirt, unconsciously choosing the color that matches Cecil’s usual eye color. He still doesn’t have shoes. However, the hospital has given him thick socks with grips on the soles, so he puts those on.

A man knocks on the open door. He is very skinny, and his gray hair contrasts sharply with a boyishly youthful face, “Hey, I’m Chuck. You must be the new guy,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Hi, Chuck. I’m Carlos the Scientist. I mean Santos.” Carlos clenches his fist at the odd mistake. The only person who calls him that is Cecil.

Chuck laughs, unaware of Carlos’ discomfort. “Okay, Mr. Scientist it is then. Any questions you may have, you can always ask me. You could say I’m a regular to places like this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…. But don’t worry I’ve been to this one before. The folk here try real hard. But come on, we have to get our vitals checked and take our medicine before lunch.”

“I’m not on any medication.”

Chuck smiles sympathetically. “You’re in a psych ward, now. You are on at least three different kinds.”

“What if I refuse to take them?”

“Well, you could do, but they don’t like that sort of thing. Noncompliance. Makes ‘em look bad. They want their miracle drugs and therapy to cure us. You refuse and they will think you don’t want help, specifically their help. Don’t worry, Mr. Scientist, they won’t give you anything too bad. Just don’t give ‘em any reason to sedate you again.”

Carlos pales, “You—you know about that?”

“Well, nobody spelled it out for me. But like I said, I’ve spent more than my fair share of time at places like this. They bring someone in, the way they brought you in? And yeah, I figured you must have gone off on someone. Now, don’t look so grim. At these places, you leave your dignity at the door.” Chuck gestures for Carlos to follow him to the lounge and Carlos complies.  

Cecil enters the hospital and heads to the front desk. There are four people seated behind it, but Cecil feels himself gravitate to the balding, hunched-over man in the far-left corner. His name badge reads “Henry” in small, friendly letters. Something about him feels safe.

Henry looks up. He studies Cecil for a long moment before his face crinkles into a smile. “How can I help you, son?”

“I think my boyfriend admitted himself here.”

“His name?”

“Carlos the Scien—I mean Santos. Carlos Santos.” Cecil mentally kicks himself. No using Night Vale names outside of Night Vale is, like, the first rule you learn in pre-pre-school. 

Henry is typing on his computer. “Hmmm, I’m showing five men here by that name. Could I have his phone number to help narrow it down?”

“I don’t know if he even remembers his number. He lost his memory this morning and ran off confused and disoriented.” As Cecil talks, the old man continues to type.

“Okay, your description worked just as good as a number. Looks like he came in through the ER and then was admitted to the psychiatric ward this afternoon.”

“The psychiatric ward?!? No! Not my  Carlos! What floor? What room? I have to see him immediately!” The other receptionists glare at Cecil’s raised voice and flailing limbs.

Henry, however, just frowns sadly and says, “I’m sorry, son. Visitors aren’t allowed in that unit till the weekend.”

“The weekend?” Cecil keens, his tattoos shifting uncomfortably. “But it’s only Tuesday! I have to see him! I know what will reverse his memory loss. There has to be some other way!”

“I wish I could help you, but rules are rules. However…” He takes a piece of paper and writes a number on it, handing it to Cecil. “The lounge in the psych ward has six payphones that all have this number. You can call at any time, and as long as he is not in group or with a doctor, he can talk.”

Cecil’s face splits into a wide grin. “Thank you so much!” He then runs out and back to Old Woman Josie’s ambulance and punches in the numbers.

The phone rings once and a gruff voice answers. “Yo, Crazies R Us. How can I help you?”

Cecil isn’t certain if this is the traditional way the phone is typically answered, so without hesitation he replies, “This is Cecil Palmer. May I speak with Carlos, please?”

“Let me check.” With a rattle, the phone is set down. But, Cecil can still hear him say, “Go get Mr. Scientist. Tell him, phone.”

A moment later Cecil hears a soft voice, but cannot make out the words. However, he has no trouble hearing the answer. “Said his name was Cecil-something.”

Click. The line goes dead and Cecil stares at his cell phone’s screen a moment. Maybe he accidentally hung up, Cecil hopes. He calls again.

“County Morgue. You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em,” says the same voice as before.

“Uh, yes. This is Cecil calling for Carlos?”

“Yeah, the thing about that is, the moment he heard your name he ran out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. Do I sound like his shrink to you?”

“No, but I have to talk to him. He lost his memory. Please, get him to the phone. His memory loss has made him confused, but I can help him. Please. I love him. I love him more than anything in this evanescent existence. He is like the moon, if it’s real, in the sky. He lightens the void of my life, making the bleakness bearable and –“

“Wow, okay, slow down there, Romeo. Stop with all the gushy. I’ll see what I can do.”

Cecil waits for what feels like an eternity. Yet the wristwatch Carlos gave him steadily ticks away, showing only three minutes as having passed before a voice speaks.

“Why are you calling me?” Carlos asks, voice no longer dripping with oaky, velvet tones. It sounds hoarse from too much screaming, and small like a child’s.

“Carlos, darling Carlos! I know what’s happened to you! I know about the memory loss and how to fix it. I was so scared and confused when you ran away this morning.  And when I heard you were in the hospital, I—well—I came at once. Are you okay?”

Carlos starts laughing. Cecil has, of course, heard Carlos laugh before. Cecil loves Carlos’ laugh. _But this laugh._ This laugh scares him in the way that most things don’t.

“Am I okay? Really? You call me after raping me to ask if I’m OKAY? Is this some kind of Night Vale courtesy thing?” Carlos demands, his voice veering towards hysteria.

Hearing Carlos’ words, Cecil feels everything and nothing at the same time. He speaks again, his voice a horrified whisper. “Raping you? I didn’t…rape you. I could never. WOULD never. We were roleplaying. We had talked about it for months. You wanted to do it. Carlos, please don’t say that I—I raped you!”

Carlos keeps laughing, “Yes, I wanted it. Always wanted my first time to be rape. So much to look forward to for my second time. And I suppose this morning, that was roleplay too, right?”

“Right!” And a sudden realization hits Cecil.

He knew Carlos had had his memory last night because Carlos had told him how wonderful it had been, and they had fallen asleep soon after, snuggling. And this morning, Cecil had assumed, was a continuation. That Carlos had had his memory, up until the moment he had pissed himself. And, Cecil had thought, waking up while your boyfriend is unexpectedly fondling you would naturally freak anyone out. But he had never even considered that Carlos had awoken with no memory. And that he didn’t even remember that they were a couple. No, no, no, Cecil thinks. It can’t be.

“Right? Carlos, this morning was consensual, right?”

Carlos’ laughter grows louder, more hysterical. Cecil can just make out a nurse asking him if he is okay. To which Carlos replies, “Oh I’m fine! I’m just talking to my rapist.” And to Cecil he says, “Sure, consensual. Whatever you say.”

Cecil can’t— _no—_ doesn’t want to believe it. “Carlos, please, answer my question. This is serious.”

The laughter stops abruptly and Carlos’ broken voice drops a few octaves, sounding lethal.“Serious? You think I can’t comprehend that? I woke up chained to your bed, after you have done nothing but obsess over me since I got here! No doubt waiting for the perfect time to drug me and fuck me. And the sick part is that I was starting to like you too. And now I am missing over two years of my life, due to whatever tortures you put me through last night!” Carlos ends his rant screaming.

Cecil is crying. He wants to maintain his composure, but can’t. “I would never do anything like that. I love you! Please believe me!”

“Believe? Ha, ha. Belief is what people who don’t have proof ask for.”

“But I can prove it. I know why you are missing time. I just had no idea how much. But last night you went to get us Big Rico’s pizza and you drove through Fugue Fog, which is a distant cousin of the Glow Cloud. The Fugue Fog took your memory. But I can get it back! You just have to come with me to Night Vale, so the Glow Cloud can strike you with lightning in order for you to regain your memory. Carlos, we have been dating for over a year. The house you ran out of this morning is the one we bought together!”

Carlos is silent for a long moment.

“So, instead of my memory loss being caused by trauma and drugs, you are saying that I lost my memory driving through a sentient fog. And that, really, you and me have been bestest boyfriends this whole time. And all I need is to be struck by lightning by the dead-animal-dropping Glow Cloud and all will be well again?”

“Yes!” Cecil replies, hoping that Carlos finally understands.

“Cecil, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my entire life. That is not proof. That is you talking and making absolutely zero sense. This is just like listening to your _stupid_ radio show all over again!”

The insult about his radio show hits Cecil like a kick to the ribcage **.** But he presses on. No matter what, he needs Carlos to believe him.

“Ask me anything!”

“What?”

“Proof! Ask me anything about you that no one knows and I will know it because we live together and tell each other everything!”

“Oh, no! You are not tricking me with information you could have easily gotten from the Sheriff’s police or something you overheard me saying or read in my diary.”

“But you don’t keep a diary, Carlos.”

“See! The fact you know I don’t does not make me trust you. It just makes me think you went rooting through my apartment!”

“I know that because we live together. Because I keep one and noticed you didn’t. Please, you need to believe me.”

“I need PROOF. Like a mortgage in both of our names.”

“But it’s only in my name. I cut a deal with the realtors and gave them extra ad space on the air that they didn’t pay for in exchange for a sizable discount on our house. Station Management didn’t care as long as the house was in sight of the station and closer than where I used to live.”

“Right, well, touching story. Apparently I have group now. Where I have to go and talk about how what you did put me in here. Goodbye, Cecil.” And with that, Carlos hangs up.

Cecil stares vacantly for a moment, hoping that maybe he has somehow slipped into an alternate reality. But the air doesn’t smell like pine and there are no gashes in the sky. This is reality? He feels sick. Running to the bushes in front of the ambulance he throws up violently, bringing up the scant amount of food and coffee he had consumed that day. It does nothing to assuage the nausea, the guilt. He vomits again and again until he is bringing up blood and bile, and still he can’t stop.  “No, no, it can’t be,” he whispers over and over between retches.  Finally there is nothing left to bring up, and he collapses to the ground beside the ambulance, bursting into fresh sobs.

Carlos wasn’t roleplaying this morning. Cecil hadn’t raped him; Cecil had sexually assaulted him. Cecil had actually hurt the best thing in his life. He hugs his knees, crying and rocking back and forth. He replays the morning again and again in his mind. How had he missed the signs? How had he not seen that Carlos had been well and truly terrified? Carlos thought he had been raped the night before because of what Cecil had done to him that morning. Cecil has never experienced such self-loathing. He feels a sudden constriction of the flesh around his ribcage and stomach. Even his tattoos do not want to be a part of him. He does not try to stop them, knowing he deserves far worse.

Cecil wants to enter the dog park. He wants to rip the cloak off of a hooded figure. He wants to break into Station Management’s office. Anything to bring about the obliteration he so justly deserves. After what he has done to sweet, innocent Carlos. But he can’t. Not yet, anyway. Not when Carlos is trapped memory-less in a psych ward. He sighs heavily. But Carlos won’t listen to him, unless he can somehow get proof. And how can he possibly get-

Cecil’s head snaps up so fast it bangs into the ambulance door. “Of course! What was I thinking?”

He runs back inside the hospital and gets their fax number from Henry. He runs back out before Henry can ask him the myriad of questions Cecil sees forming in his mind.

He pulls out his phone and dials the Records Office at City Hall.

“Records. Sam speaking.”

“Sam, hey, this is Cecil. I need every form that Carlos and I ever filled out jointly faxed to this number.” Cecil reads the fax number. “I need this done NOW.”

“You do know, that’s over three hundred pages, right?”

“I figured as much. I need all of them. It’s an emergency.”

“All? Including the Copulation Forms?”

“Especially those.”

“Okay, well, you are in luck. Zadaya’s ghost is here today. So she can handle the front desk while I gather your forms. I heard your show today, so I think I know why you need them. I’ll send them over immediately. Sorry, Cecil.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. But thank you so much for this, Sam.”

“No problem.” Sam hangs up.

And Cecil reenters the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a visual on Cecil's outfit, [click here](http://noddingoff.tumblr.com/post/66461553142/cecils-outfit) for my tumblr post with the pics I used as reference. 
> 
> Thank you all for comments, Kudos, and all. Feedback is always appreciated, even if it is just yelling at me for making them miserable.


	5. Unconventional Copulation Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's fax prints, while Carlos attends group. Carlos finally gets his proof. And has no idea what to believe. He just knows he needs to go back to Night Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever to write. Thanks for sticking with me! Next chapter, in theory, will be out much sooner. As always I appreciate any form of feedback! Thank you all!

Henry’s jaw had practically dropped when the man with the amnesiac boyfriend came back in through the automatic doors requesting the hospital’s fax number. The young man, who moments ago was filled with boundless energy, looked as though he had aged twenty years. He was paler and somehow shrunken in stature, with one arm wrapped protectively across his chest, as if suffering from great pain. He looked as if he had been sobbing, eyes puffy and nose runny. However, the most alarming change was that even his stunning electric blue eyes had dulled to a flat slate-gray.

Henry had immediately excused himself, taking an early lunch.  He had felt a kinship with the young man the moment he had walked through the doors.  And whatever he was going through, Henry did not want him to go through it alone.

Henry walks to the entrance and waits for him to come back in.

He only waits a few minutes before Cecil comes back, his eyes on the floor, and walks past Henry toward the desk. Henry calls, “Hey, son!” But Cecil does not respond. Henry hobbles quickly after him and touches him lightly on the shoulder **.** Cecil startles at the physical contact, but visibly relaxes after he realizes the source of the touch is Henry. “Come on, kid. Fax is this way.” Cecil falls into step behind the old man as they make their way into a very cramped room.

Most of the space is taken up by a huge copier against the wall. Alongside it sits a desk with a fax machine already printing out the documents Cecil had requested. There are a couple of folding chairs, and Henry opens one for Cecil before setting up one for himself.  Cecil takes the seat gratefully, the silence broken occasionally by his sniffling. When Henry sees the fax machine running out of paper, he quickly adds some more, bringing Cecil what he had printed already. The first page of the document, printed in large, official letters in vivid purple, catches Henry’s eye and his jaw nearly drops. “Well, I’ll be goddamned! Night Vale!  Of course!”

Cecil takes the first grouping of pages, looking curiously at Henry. Henry points to himself.  “Yeah, I know I may not look it anymore, but I grew up in Night Vale.”

 

 

*******************************

Carlos slams the phone down in its receiver, picks it up and slams it a few more times for good measure. He turns around and is surprised to see that Emma is next to him. One caring smile from her is all it takes to break the dam within him.  He sobs loudly, shoulders heaving with the effort. She gives him tissues and sits with him quietly while everyone else leaves for group therapy down the hall. Chuck hovers longer than the others, until finally a nurse asks him to go to group.

Finally, Carlos’ sobs slow and his shoulders are still once more. Emma breaks the silence. “I was already on my way to you when the nurse called and said you might need a friendly face.”

Carlos just wants to curl up in a ball, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Why were you coming to see me?”

“We got the results of your HIV test back and it is negative, as are all of your other STD tests.”

Carlos nods, vaguely aware that this is a good thing, but in all the chaos he had utterly forgotten that there could be more repercussions than just mental ones. He shivers, feeling scared again, despite the good news. “Thanks for the…for the tissues,” he says, unable to look her in the eyes.

“Of course. Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

“No.  Actually, could I just go to Group? I would much rather listen to other people’s problems right now.”

Emma smiles understandingly. “Sure, they haven’t even gone inside yet. And if for any reason you want to leave Group, you can. Let the nurse in charge know that Emma and Carmita have approved you for leaving Group whenever you feel unable to attend. Okay?”

 Carlos smiles gratefully. “I will. Thank you.”

 

 

*******************************

Cecil arches an eyebrow. “You grew up in Night Vale?”

“Born and raised. In fact, we might know each other. I go by Henry now, but in Night Vale I was Nurse Tanner. I was the head school nurse for the elementary school.”

Nurse Tanner! That does take Cecil back. It’s hard to picture Henry as Nurse Tanner without the hooded velvet robe and gas mask that served as his uniform. But he does have a familiar quality, which is perhaps why Cecil felt drawn towards him when he entered the hospital. “I’m Cecil. Cecil Palmer.”

The old man looks at Cecil a moment before barking out in laughter, “Of course! I remember you! You and that…that Carlsberg kid—Stan, I think his name was—were always getting into fights. I was constantly patching one, the other, or both of you up!”

“It’s not Stan. It’s Steve. _Steve Carlsberg_.” Cecil practically spits the name.

Henry laughs good-naturedly again and says, “Well, that answers my question on whether you two ever put aside your differences.”

Cecil crosses his arms, looking very much the petulant child that Henry remembers as he goes to put more paper in the fax machine.

With his back to Cecil, Henry continues, “Don’t worry, I always liked you better anyway. Though if I recall, not many liked that Steve kid much. _What an oddball_.”

Cecil smiles smugly at that, only to receive a sharp pain down his back. He yelps, clutching at his back. His tattoos are still deeply upset. When they realize that Cecil is beginning to relax a little, the scorpions take that as their cue to start stinging.

Henry whirls around with a concerned look at Cecil’s outburst, but Cecil responds, “Sorry, it's nothing.” He attempts to remain stoic, although his face occasionally contracts in a grimace of pain from the onslaught of stings. In an effort to distract himself again, even though he knows it will just serve to further enrage his tattoos, he asks, “Why did you leave Night Vale?”

Henry sits back down, a wistful look in his eyes. “Why does anyone? Love. She was just traveling through and we met at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner.  She was weary and tired and beautiful. She was moving to the town we’re in now, so we dated long-distance for a while. But things got serious pretty quickly. I wanted her to move here, but can you believe that everything in Night Vale practically terrified her? Even my Nurse Uniform!”

Cecil nods. “I completely understand.”

“Anyway, it came down to either Night Vale or her. And I chose her.”

A vague memory comes to Cecil of a man wearing a purple-hooded robe, gasmask askew, screaming and ranting about true love while being dragged to Vice Principal Victoria’s office. Vice Principal Victoria, as everyone knows, was really a pack of feral dogs. Cecil remembers the screaming and the sound of tearing flesh. He was in fourth grade.  Everyone in the school was made to watch, as a lesson in obedience.

“Wait, didn’t they feed you to Vice Principal Victoria because you wanted to leave?”

“Yeah, can’t say they were happy about the decision. But it was the best decision I ever made.  You know the phrase, 'True love conquers all, devours all,  punishes all.'”  

Cecil looks down. “I hope you’re right.”

Henry moves his chair closer to Cecil.  “Look, I know something plum awful happened between the time you first came in to see me and now, and I doubt you want to tell me your whole life story, but I think it may help to talk a little bit.”

Cecil looks at Henry, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I hurt Carlos.” He pauses. His own words disgust him, but as much as he wants to take them back, he can never undo the damage he has done. “I hurt the man I love. That’s why he’s here and that’s why they have him locked up in a psych ward. I did this to him.”

Silent tears roll rapidly down Cecil’s cheeks. “His face. The way he looked at me. He was terrified. And I should’ve known something was wrong. But the night before, everything was fine. I should’ve known! Curse me. Curse me!” Cecil bites down hard on his fist to stop himself from screaming, his fangs sinking into the flesh around his knuckles.

Henry only has bits and pieces from what he was allowed to access in Carlos’ file and from Cecil’s distraught words. “Your boyfriend, Carlos, did he lose his memory before or after you say you hurt him?”

“Before. But I saw his face! How did I not realize that he had no idea what was happening?”

Henry continues, undeterred by Cecil’s distraught speech. “And if Carlos hadn’t lost his memory, would he be where he is right now?"

“No, but—"

Henry holds up a hand, silencing Cecil. “From the way it looks to me, even if you did hurt your boyfriend there is no use beating yourself up over it now. How will that help him? I’m assuming his memory loss is not something doctors here will be able to fix?”

“No, they won’t. I need to take him back to Night Vale. But he doesn’t believe me about any of it. He remembers nothing of our lives together. He said he needed proof. So I’m printing out every joint form we ever filled out. I just hope it’s enough.”

“Me too.” The fax machine stops printing and Henry gets up, bundling the last section. The fax is some three hundred pages total.

Cecil gets up and grabs a Post-It note from the desk and quickly writes a few words, sticking the note to the top page. “Can we get someone to take this to him immediately?”

 “Absolutely. And listen, normally there is a waiting period of a few days before they will release a patient who hasn’t shown signs of improvement. But if Carlos tells me he wants to leave, I’m sure I can think of a way to get him out.”

“I thought you said, 'rules are rules.’”

“I did. And this is us breaking them.”  

 

 

*******************************

Entering the room, Carlos sees Chuck waving enthusiastically, pointing to the empty chair next to him. Carlos complies. At the front of the room a heavyset male nurse sits, tilting far back on one of the flimsy plastic chairs, very much at ease.

“I’m Nathan, one of the nurses here. First we are going to Contract for Safety and pick today’s goal. Contract for Safety, for those of you who don’t know or have chosen to forget, is a contract between you and everyone else here. It means that while you are in Group, you will not hurt yourself or others. If you feel that you cannot agree to that, we will escort you out. Okay? Okay. After you contract, then you tell the group a goal you have for today. It doesn’t have to be life-changing, but don’t be telling me that your goal is to attend Group, ‘cause you already here.”

Nathan reads down the list of names, and everyone agrees to the Contract. Finally he gets to Carlos. “Santos, Carlos. Contract for Safety?”

“Yes.”

“One goal?”

“To remember what happened to me.”

Now that he wasn’t dreading speaking out loud, Carlos looks around the room to see what type of people make up a psych ward. “Jesus, so many of them are kids,” he whispers to Chuck. Chuck nods sadly and nudges Carlos to pay attention to Nathan, who is now going over the day’s activities. Carlos tries and fails. Nobody looks crazy. Some look a bit out of it. One woman, who looks like a very aged soap opera star, is sleeping in the corner. But nobody looks insane. Everyone just looks like they have had more than their fair share of bad days.

Next people begin to share their issues, feelings, pretty much whatever is on their minds. Carlos half-listens, lost in his own issues and feelings. Until the girl across from him, the one with the heavily bandaged wrists that are elevated on a pillow, speaks up.

“You know what I hate? I hate the way everyone tells me over and over again, ‘What Johnny did to you isn’t your fault.’ You think I don’t know that? I know I didn’t deserve any of the shit that asshole put me through. But I’m living every day in my own skin. The skin he bruised and broke and made me feel disgusting in. So when I look in a mirror, I don’t see me, not really. I see an object that belongs to him. And I want to destroy it.”

The therapist then begins talking with her, in an attempt to change her perspective. Carlos pays their continued conversation no mind. He can only think, “Is that what’s going to happen to me eventually? Does this ever end?”

After Group Carlos’ hands are shaking and he feels bubbles of hysteria rising in his chest. He pulls Chuck aside. “Can the doctors give me something for hysteria, anxiety, whatever? Something to calm me down?” Carlos is grinning as he says this, but doesn’t look the least bit happy.

Chuck frowns. “Oh, they’ll give you something, alright. Something to knock you senseless, but you’ll feel just as shitty as you do now when you come out of your stupor. That is not the type of help you need, Mr. Scientist. Come with me.”

Carlos agrees that that doesn’t sound like what he needs, but he’s already giggling at the thought. Chuck leads them to the doors that lead out to the enclosed courtyard.

“Wait, we aren’t allowed outside!“ Carlos says shrilly, still giggling, when he sees Nathan opening the door for them.

Carlos steps outside, squinting at the brightness, and immediately feels twenty degrees warmer. He sees most of the others walking around by themselves or talking to each other.

“Twenty-minute smoke break.” Chuck answers the question he sees forming in Carlos’ mind.

“Oh, but I don’t smoke.”

“Yes, you do. Here.” Chuck hands Carlos a Newport. Carlos eyes the cigarette suspiciously. “Look, I don’t work for the cigarette company. Hell, I ain’t even got a job! But I do know those pills they give don’t help.”

“But cigarettes will?”

Chuck grins. “Yup, especially for a non-smoker. It will curb your hysteria, give you a buzz, but most importantly keep you lucid. Look, I know your type, Mr. Scientist. You saw Debbie, right? In Group? That old bag sleeping in the corner? That’s what this medicine does to you. She even has some pretty bracelets around her wrists proclaiming her as a 'Fall Risk', they have her on so much of that shit. Drugs here are designed to help the doctors deal with the patients. They aren’t for our benefit.”

Carlos doesn’t respond, but holds out the cigarette for Chuck to light. Chuck goes to light it, then laughs. “You have to put it in your mouth and breathe in or it doesn’t light.”

Carlos inhales deeply as Chuck lights the cigarette and immediately starts sputtering and coughing. Chuck laughs. “Take another drag.”

“What?”

“Smoke more. Just smoke the whole thing.” Carlos obliges, coughing the whole time.

When Carlos is half-way done his cigarette, he shakes his head as if to clear it. “I feel odd.”

“Still feel hysterical?”

“No. Just dizzy. Kinda… hmmmph… I can’t really think of an accurate qualitative response. But I am definitely not anxious or hysterical.”

“See! Told you!” Chuck says, smiling.

“You should be a doctor!”

“Haha! I’m flattered, but you shouldn’t let the monkeys run the zoo.”

They both feel lighter walking back into the hospital.

Almost immediately Carlos hears his name being called by the nurse at the front desk. He walks over. “Yes?”

The man hands him a mound of papers, all rubber-banded into separate sections. A note is written in careful ink on the top. _Your proof. Love, Cecil_.

Carlos feels ill. He rushes back to his room without a glance in Chuck’s direction. He lays the documents on the sad excuse for a desk.

He removes the rubber band from the first section. Underneath Cecil’s note and the first page is a very official-looking document that is entitled: **END OF DATE REPORT**. Beneath that is a place for the participants to sign their names. Then it reads: **DATE NUMBER** , with three check boxes after labeled: “ **ONE** ”, “ **TWO** ”, and “ **THREE OR MORE** ”. The check box that is marked is **ONE**. After that is a section: **DESCRIPTION OF DATE ACTIVITIES**. Next section: **INJURIES SUSTAINED**. Below are check boxes for “YES” and “NO” and then the question **: If yes, who sustained which injuries and what were the circumstances around those injuries?** The last section is labeled: **FATALITIES** , with the same check boxes below and finally the last question: **If yes, who died and what were the circumstances surrounding the death?**

Carlos reads over the account of their first date. It is written solely in Cecil’s handwriting, making Carlos immediately suspicious. Carlos can’t picture himself ordering bloody mushrooms. Or being the one to make the first move! He flips to page two, still in Cecil’s writing. He then skips a bunch of pages until he happens upon his own handwriting.

It is another date form.

**DESCRIPTION OF DATE ACTIVITIES  
**

_Cecil and I decided to stay in today and watch “Some Like it Hot”. It has always been one of my favorite movies, and apparently it is Cecil’s as well. Thank God he owned it on Laserdisc, since that is the only electronic video-playing device that works here. I have tried to find out why VCRs, DVDs, and Blu-ray players don’t work, but they keep exploding before I can get usable data and I don’t have the money to keep replacing them. Sorry, off topic. Okay, so, after the movie, Cecil and I….. Ugh, I never realized how hard it is to write these things. I have no idea how Cecil has been doing this. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m new to these forms. Okay, after the movie, Cecil and I made out like horny teenagers for hours. And I really, really wanted to go further, but first you have to fill out this form that both of you have to sign. I found all this out while I was attempting to undo Cecil’s pants. I asked him if he had brought the forms with him. He blushed profusely and said he hadn’t, because he didn’t want to presume too much. While being a very gentlemanly thing to do, I still wanted to smack him. We parted ways soon after, to avoid some nasty fine for not filling out the paperwork first._

Carlos reads in shock. It is his bad handwriting, his tendency to derail his thoughts, his mannerisms, everything. And here he was writing that _he_ was the sexually frustrated one. He still feels ill, but now for a very different reason.

This was a life he had written off. He knew that he wasn’t asexual or aromantic, but no one could really pull his interest away from science long enough to satisfy them or tolerate his interest long enough to satisfy Carlos. So he’d had a handful of dates that rarely lasted past date number two.

Suddenly a thought strikes him.  He flips to the beginning of the last form that had been filled out two days ago. The bold heading reads:   **THE UNCONVENTIONAL COPULATION FORM**.  Then he sees about five pages of check marked boxes under the heading **CHOOSE YOUR UNCONVENTIONAL COPULATION** with the sentence in smaller print underneath, “ **No more than five boxes may be checked in any one form**.” Many of the many of these things listed don’t seem very unconventional to Carlos and others seem downright impossible. Finally, his eyes land on the box that is checked off and his bloods freezes in his veins.

**RAPE FANTASY**

The writing that followed was his. _His._

_Okay, so I didn’t understand why we needed to fill out a special form for this, since it was hard enough to articulate this to my boyfriend, let alone strangers. But Cecil explained that if we did something like this without the form that the Sheriff’s Secret Police would bust through the windows and drag Cecil away. I laughed, “But you’re the Voice of Night Vale! Surely they wouldn’t take you away.”_

_Cecil looked sick. “Rape is a very serious offense here.”_

_“But didn’t you just outlaw murder a few years ago?”_

_“Murder is one thing, but rape or any type of similar violation is never acceptable.” His words made me think. I mean, outside of Night Vale, rape gets pushed under the rug all the time and – oh! I’m rambling again, sorry. I would rewrite this but I am running low on beet juice-ink for my non-pen._

_At first, Cecil wanted no part in anything that could hurt me. I finally was able to explain that I wasn’t into the pain aspect, just the feeling of someone else controlling me. Controlling my body. I feel so weird writing this! Because I don’t emulate rape victims. I don’t. But something about the way the body can still react favorably even if you don’t want it to (which, of course, I do, I’m just pretending like I don’t) turns me on. Something to do with biology prevailing over psychology. God, I’m such a nerd._

_So, we bought handcuffs, which Cecil will use to handcuff me to the bed and take me by force. Our safeword is “Mountain” since the concept is still a sore spot between us. He still can’t believe they exist, despite the fact that I grew up near some. Anyway, I will be using words like “‘No” and “Stop”, but these are not to alarm anyone. This is all consensual._

Carlos is crying and he doesn’t even realize it until he reaches the end of the form. He never before had put words to any of those fantasies, keeping them locked up in the deepest, most shameful part of himself. He is in disbelief with himself. How could he have ever found any of that appealing? He hadn’t understood a single thing.

Just then Chuck opens the door a crack. “Phone. It’s Cecil. He says this time I won’t have to convince you to come to the phone.”

Carlos shakes his head, numbly. “No, you won’t”

He grabs the papers and heads to the payphone in the lobby. “Hello.”

“Carlos? I am so, so sorry! I had no idea that this morning wasn’t still part of what we did last night. I have no excuse for being so clueless and evil. I thought you were still roleplaying. Oh, Gods! You have every right to hate me. I know—I hate myself right now. But can I at least take you to get your memory restored? It’s the very least I can do. You don’t deserve to be locked away in there. I do. I do for hurting you. I should’ve known!” And Cecil breaks down in tears.

Carlos is taken aback. This is not the conversation he is expecting. He feels sympathy for the man on the other end of the phone. He feels it bone deep. But his fear and his hurt prevent him from expressing it. So instead, in an almost monotone voice, he says, “I would like to go back to Night Vale.”

 “Okay,” Cecil says, full of hope.

“But the thing is, I can’t leave. I have to wait 48 hours before I can sign out, and even then they might not approve it.”

Carlos hears somebody talking in the background before Cecil asks, “But you definitely want to leave here and go back to Night Vale?”

“Yes. I’m not really sure what to believe and what not to, but I definitely don’t think I’ll find my answers locked in here.”

“Okay, Carlos. I’m putting Henry on. He works for the hospital and I want you to tell him what you just told me.”

“Hello, Carlos.”

“Uh, hello, Henry. I would like to leave the hospital immediately.”

“I think I can arrange that, but you’ll have to listen to me closely.”


	6. Exit

“First things first. Are you underweight or overweight?” Henry asks Carlos.

 “Under,” both Carlos and Cecil answer simultaneously.

 “Well, then, congratulations. You are now officially diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. But unfortunately, our hospital does not have an eating disorder unit. So, I guess we are just going to have to transfer you to another hospital… Understand?”

 “Yes, I do. Thank you,” says Carlos.

 “Great. 9 PM is dinnertime, which means everyone will leave for the cafeteria. Except, of course, you and anyone else without Level 1 privileges. That’s when we will come to get you, when the fewest number of people are around. Be ready.”

“I will.”

 “See you, then.”

 “Uh, yeah. See you.”

 Henry hangs up and loudly cracks his knuckles.  “I need to get to work filling out the forms for Carlos’ transfer.” He gives Cecil a hopeful grin, but Cecil is staring blankly at the wall, distracted and worrying his bottom lip. “What’s wrong, kid?”

 “Well, it’s not that I—we— _I—_ don’t appreciate you helping us. Because I do. But, I just don’t want you to lose your job or get into serious hot water over this. I don’t think I can handle being responsible for any more terrible things happening to people.”

 “First off, you are not responsible for my actions. I’m volunteering to help. Secondly, I can hold my own. I mean, come on, us Night Valians have to stick together!  And it’s not like these folks can do anything nearly as bad as feeding me to a pack of wild dogs masquerading as the Dean of Medicine, right?”

 “Right,” Cecil answers, his voice wavering in its uncertainty.

 “Exactly!  He gives Cecil a hearty slap on the back. “Now, how well can you push a gurney?”

 “I did earn my Victim Disposal merit badge in Boy Scouts.”

 “Excellent.”

 “Wait – _you can’t mean_ – you don’t want me to get Carlos, do you?”

 “Well, _I_ can’t very well do it. They all know me. Don’t worry; I’ll get you the appropriate attire.”

 “It’s not the attire I’m worried about,” Cecil says morosely.

 Henry sighs. “I know. If there was another person… But, sadly, you’re it.” He gives Cecil a gentler pat this time. “I’ll show you where you will be taking him. We have a new ER wing now. But the old ambulance entrance is still here and still used, albeit seldom. The only problem is I doubt I will be able to get an actual ambulance to meet us there.”

 Cecil manages a small smile. “I think I can help with that.”

 

******************************

 

It’s quarter till nine and Carlos is covered in a sheen of sweat. _What if it doesn’t work?_ A terrified voice inside his head whispers. _But what if it does?_ Another whispers back.

 He slumps onto the stained and threadbare couch in the lounge, still holding the large fax Cecil had sent him. Sighing deeply, he rubs his hands over his face, until he feels a shift of someone sitting next to him. He looks up, defensively clutching the bundles of papers closer to himself. But it’s only Chuck, sitting all the way on the other end of the couch **.** Obviously aware of Carlos’ need for plenty of personal space.

 “You okay, Mr. Scientist?”

 Carlos starts to respond, but his voice seizes between the words ‘‘yes’’ and ‘‘no’’, resulting in an odd-sounding grunt. He gives up and just shrugs, palms pointing upwards.

 “Usually, if you can’t tell, it probably means you’re not. Wanna talk?” At Carlos’ incredulous expression, he continues, “Listen, I just got done my one-on-one therapy session and could really go for some problems that aren’t mine right now. Call me selfish.”

 Carlos sighs, “I just don’t know anymore. My life is collecting data and drawing conclusions from said data. But _this_? I have practically _nothing_ to draw from. And what I do have conflicts with what I feel and what I know. Normally feelings don’t even come into play. Ugh! How can I make the right choice when I can’t be an objective bystander?”

 “Right choice…with?”

 Carlos knows the risk he is taking telling anyone. But he needs to voice his thoughts to someone. And he obviously can’t talk to Emma or Carmita about this. He glances around furtively and lowers his voice. “Keep a secret?”

 “To my grave.”

 “I’m leaving tonight.”

 “You mean you’re being released?”

 “No, more like a jail break. It will look like a transfer. Someone who works here is faking the paperwork and in ten minutes, I’ll be gone.”

 Chuck lets out an impressed whistle. “Ten minutes, huh? Cutting it a little close to be confiding this to someone, aren’t ya?”

 Carlos frowns, sinking further into the broken springs of the couch.

 “Hey, man, I’m only teasing ya. So, how exactly do you feel about leaving?”

 Carlos’ expression is one of pure consternation. Before he can answer, Chuck continues, elaborating on his question.

 “When I say ‘feel’, Carlos, I don’t mean what the part of you that is scared is saying, or the part that feels trapped. Or any of the other conflicting voices in your mind, not even your logical science side. I mean, what do you feel in your soul, in your gut? I’ve gone through enough therapeutic techniques from a million different doctors to find answers. And I’ll tell you that there is always a part of you that _knows_ what you should do, no matter how shitty or confused you feel. So close your eyes and don’t think—just breathe and feel.”

 Carlos fights the impulse to roll his eyes at the idea of _not_ thinking, and complies. Eyes shut, he wades through the innumerable thoughts swimming around him, vying for his attention. He floats past them, not judging them, not acting on them. He lets himself sink deeper. Deeper until his thoughts fade. Until a feeling of love surrounds him, holding him gently. The smell of a home-cooked meal, electric blue eyes, and a smile that makes his knees weak and heart swell. All of these feelings are unfamiliar, and yet, they are the only things that truly matter. He doesn’t know this—he feels it. And all of these feelings are telling him to go back to Night Vale. To go home. Carlos opens his eyes, unaware of the tears slowly drying on his cheeks. Chuck is watching him, silently.

 “Welcome back, Mr. Scientist.”

 Carlos gives him the tiniest of smiles. “You were right. It’s clear to me now. I need to go back. I won’t find my memory locked in here.”

 Chuck nods, then gets up, grabbing a crayon (the only writing utensil allowed in the unit), and a piece of paper. He scribbles for a moment before handing the paper to Carlos.

 Written on the paper are Chuck’s name, phone number, and address.

 “Normally, I don’t give out personal information to people in here.” He looks around in a conspiratorial fashion. “There are crazy people in here. And I know I don’t know your story. And you don’t know mine. Hell, you don’t even know your own! But I’m a good judge of character. And you, sir, are a good character. I may not look it, but I know what it’s like. Being mistreated, violated. Made to feel like a prisoner in your own skin. So, if you need a place to escape to, or if you just need me to cut a bitch _—call_.”

 Carlos looks down at the purple crayon marks, overwhelmed by the enormity of the gesture.

 “Thanks, Chuck.” He extends his hand in order to shake Chuck’s.

 Reaching for Carlos’ hand, Chuck’s sleeve slides up, revealing a myriad of burn marks—with varying degrees of severity—running up the length of his forearm. Before he can school his face into a neutral expression, Carlos loses himself for a moment, calculating the complex topography of battered flesh.    

 Chuck looks down at the arm, sighing before pushing the sleeve down. “I’m not ashamed of these—just hate all the stares they get. I consider myself a survivor, as should you. We’re just from different wars.”

 Carlos desperately tries to think of some adequate words to thank this man. But before he can come up with anything, a nurse calls everyone to line up for dinner.

 Chuck stands immediately and gives a little wave. “Goodbye, Mr. Scientist.”

 As he walks towards the door Carlos calls back to him, “Actually, it’s Dr. Scientist!”             

 Chuck gives a snort of laughter and a thumbs-up before turning and disappearing out the door.

 

****************************** 

Less than five minutes after the patients have left, Carlos hears a buzz at the door. A man who’s neither tall nor short, nor thin or fat, and dressed in scrubs enters, pushing a gurney into the ward. He walks over to the front desk and hands the nurse a clipboard. “I’m here to transfer Carlos Santos.”

The man’s voice. That voice! With its melodious, slightly sinister tone. It’s his voice. _Cecil’s._ Carlos shudders, his newfound resolve floundering.

The nurse raises an eyebrow. “Transfer? I wasn’t aware of any transfer.”

Cecil shrugs feigning nonchalance. “It’s in the system.”

The man clicks his mouse a few times.  Carlos holds his breath, unsure if he is hoping the man finds the transfer, or that he does not.

“Ah, here it is! Damn computer. Thing never loads anything properly.” The man replies, chuckling.

Cecil forces out a strained laugh as well.

“Well, you are in luck. Your patient is right over there.” He points to Carlos.

They lock eyes from across the room for a brief instant, before both immediately avert their gaze. Carlos squashes his impulse to flee. He asked for this. He has to leave the hospital. He must.

Cecil approaches Carlos slowly, cautiously, eyes downcast. Carlos steels himself; against whatever may come, still not looking at Cecil. However, when a few moments pass and nothing happens, he looks up at Cecil. Cecil’s back is bowed, eyes dulled. The bridge of his noise and under his left eye are badly bruised and swollen, presumably from the punch that Carlos had given him.  He appears to have aged a great number of years. In fact, he looks so unlike himself that had Carlos not heard his voice a few minutes ago, he would not have believed this to be the same man before him.

“I’m sorry,” Cecil whispers, his voice barely audible. “Henry told me he couldn’t get anyone else to get you, except for me.  Sorry.”

Cecil’s gaze flickers up and meets Carlos’.  A mixture of love, hope, guilt, pain flash across his expression before his features settle on despair. He turns his back on Carlos, voice still so low that Carlos has to strain to hear it. “If you don’t mind, could you please get on the bed—er—the gurney?

Carlos flinches at the slip in Cecil’s words and eyes the gurney suspiciously.

“Uhh? I can walk,” he says, cringing at how small and weak his voice has suddenly become.

Cecil turns, worry and regret clearly visible. “I know. It’s just that it is hospital protocol. We have to use it. Sorry. You won’t be in it very long, promise. “

Carlos forces himself to move and gets in quickly, before he can change his mind.

Cecil pushes the gurney through the doors, glad that he can rest his shaking hands on the cold metal of its handles. He walks as quickly as he possibly can without raising suspicion, or getting lost. All the while wishing violently that Carlos wasn’t laid out in front of him looking so…. _broken_. The only thing Cecil wants to do is wrap his arms around his boyfriend and kiss and comfort him. But the very thought of touching him, after the _things_ he has done to his poor sweet Carlos, makes his tattoos tighten and burn.

Carlos lies there, fighting the overwhelming urge to panic. He tries to blank his mind by counting ceiling tiles. _How many tiles would fit into a square foot?_   _And then, how many square feet of tiles are there in the hospital? And, finally, how many total ceiling tiles exist in the entire hospital?_

The mental exercise works well enough that he is tossing out his third estimate when he realizes he is being pushed out the exit doors and into the cool air and soft moonlight.

An old man, standing in front of a beaten-up ambulance, smiles at them. “You can get off of that now, Carlos.”

Carlos gratefully jumps down, still clutching the bundles of paper, and puts as much distance between himself and Cecil as possible.

“Here are your keys.” Carlos takes them and shoves them in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Thanks. Henry, I presume?” Carlos responds.

 Henry bows slightly. “That would be me. Now, Cecil here is gonna drive away and I’ll help you find your car.”

Carlos nods.

Cecil looks at Carlos, opening his mouth once, closing it. Then opening it again, “Where should we meet in Night Vale?

“What?”

 “The—umm—Glow Cloud. I need to take you to it to restore your memory.”

“Right,” Carlos says, thoroughly unconvinced. “Let’s meet…… Let’s meet at the Arby’s.”

Cecil nods brusquely and quickly gets in the ambulance, driving a short distance away before engaging the sirens and lights.

Carlos has no plans to meet Cecil anywhere. He is going to his lab and getting to the bottom of this himself. He understands that it is entirely _possible_ that Cecil and he really are a couple. But he knows for a _fact,_ that he is a scientist, and, as such, he is self-reliant. And really, even if he needed help, Cecil would be the last person he would come to.

As they reach the parking lot, Carlos sees his car and turns to Henry. “Thanks for everything.” He tries to sound appreciative, but it comes out defensive, since he cannot help but view anyone in cahoots with Cecil as a potential threat.

Henry nods, his expression concerned. “I know you don’t trust either one of us. Which is smart of you. But, if you can’t find the answers you’re looking for on your own, please go to Cecil and see the Glow Cloud. I know it sounds nuts, but you’ve been in Night Vale long enough to know that nuts is kinda our normal.”

Carlos snorts at that. “But I _am_ going to see him. I told him I’d meet him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, that is what you said. But your eyes said otherwise.”

Carlos glances around, as if expecting Cecil to jump out from behind a car.

“Don’t worry. He believed you. He has no reason not to trust you. I am just saying for your own well-being, go to him when you don’t find the answers. Don’t keep yourself in this limbo any longer than you have to.”

Something about Henry’s expression seems trustworthy, but Carlos knows that appearances deceive. Nevertheless, he feels there is some wisdom in the older man’s words. He knows Night Vale often provides its answers in the most unorthodox of ways. But he is afraid of being alone with Cecil for any amount of time, even if it can bring his memory back. “Hopefully, I’ll make the right choice when the time comes.”

Henry gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you will.”

With that, Carlos gets in his car and heads back to Night Vale.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Every chapter of this story has taken a lot of time and work and always much more than I think it will need. So never fear, I have not abandoned this story and it will be finished. Thanks for comments and kudos, they give nourishment for my soul!


	7. Glow Cloud

Carlos pulls into the first fast food joint he finds, tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. He wants to get back to Night Vale ASAP, but he can’t risk passing Cecil in his rickety old ambulance. He assumes that Cecil will be driving at a slow rate in hopes that Carlos will catch up to him. Carlos, for his own peace of mind, needs to make sure that doesn’t happen.

After about ten minutes of staring blankly at the golden arches, Carlos’ stomach finally wakes up and growls. Being a chronic workaholic means that Carlos, more or less, lives off fast food, Easy Mac, and anything else easily accessible and/or microwaveable. It’s not that he can’t cook, because, in fact, he is fairly decent—it’s just that he has no reason to. Cooking for one person always struck Carlos as an unnecessary and time-wasting activity.

Carlos steps out of the car and is halfway to the front door before he remembers two important factors. One, he is only wearing the thick hospital socks on his feet. And two, he doesn’t have any money. “Great, just great,” he mutters to himself, before heading back to the maroon Prius. The moment he sinks defeated into the driver’s seat, his stomach protests, the dull pain of hunger becoming an acute ache. He clutches his midsection and begins to root around for any accidentally dropped change.

Normally, he keeps his car very clean, so he is surprised when he collects a small handful of change within only a few moments of searching. He also finds some graphs and tables for experiments he doesn’t remember, a lot of trash—mostly candy wrappers—and some other miscellaneous items he knows aren’t his and does his best to ignore.

Pulling into the drive thru, he orders a Quarter Pounder with cheese and a large black coffee. He settles in his car for the next hours, forcing himself to eat slowly while perusing the latest issue of _The Journal of Chromatography and Separation Techniques_ he found under the passenger seat. Since the journal is two years ahead of his knowledge, it does an adequate job keeping his mind free of troubling thoughts.

*******************************

The drive for Cecil is uneventful. He repeatedly checks the side mirrors, looking for a glimpse of Carlos, but he never sees anything except empty road. A thousand and one things run through his mind. Carlos getting lost. Carlos getting into an accident given his unstable state of mind. Carlos deciding to go back to his family instead. But Cecil knows he can’t turn around and check—anything he would do out of concern would be viewed by Carlos as having malicious intent. Cecil grips the wheel tighter and prays to the Gods below in their underground lairs that Carlos is okay and is somewhere in the distance following him.

*******************************

The closer Carlos gets to Night Vale, the lighter the sky becomes. The clock in the car reads 3am, but the moment Carlos crosses into Night Vale, it changes to 7pm, and the sun looks like it is just beginning to set. Carlos pulls the car over to the shoulder and diligently pulls out the notebook he keeps in his glove compartment for just such an occasion. He takes his time documenting the phenomena. Despite his overwhelming anxiety at getting back, Carlos reminds himself that he is a scientist first, and as such he will not compromise the integrity of his profession. To do so would be weak and defeatist, plus he finds small comfort in doing the familiar.

*******************************

Cecil pulls into the Arby’s as the sun is just beginning its descent. The smell of the gluten-free onion petals causes sharp pangs of hunger in his stomach. But he will not eat any. He cannot give himself that type of consideration, not until Carlos has his memory back. Cecil fiddles with his phone nervously as he watches the road, awaiting his beloved Carlos.

*******************************

Carlos parks behind Big Rico’s Pizza so his car won’t be immediately visible to prying eyes. He ensures that no one is around before darting to his lab. Once inside, he slams the door shut behind him. His hands moving fast over the many locks securing them all. He then leans back against the door, breathing deep, eyes shut, letting its solid mass ground him.

He gives himself a moment or two, before opening his eyes and surveying the room. _What an absolute wreck!_ It seems as if Night Vale has been harsher on his equipment, than he had originally predicted. The two long tables in front of him are lined with broken scientific paraphernalia. Next to each desecrated machine is taped a note card with the details of its demise; a tiny 3 by 5 tombstone.

It isn’t until Carlos moves passed these tables that he discovers all of the working equipment and active experiments have been moved to the back of the lab. He feels some of the tension leave him. It looks familiar, yet not. Like stepping into one’s childhood home as an adult. His eyes scan the room desperately for something he recognizes. But the experiments he sees are unknown to him. And most of the equipment looks like it were created here in the lab, cobbled together, when existing ones failed to do the job.

His eyes come to rest on one of his field notebooks. He picks it up and like the science magazine everything is two years in the future. Even so, this is something that he _knows_ , it’s _his_ composition book with _his_ illegible scrawl all over it. It’s like finding a piece of himself and he hugs it close.

On the wall next to him is one of the countless “Lab coats must be worn in this area” signs. He looks down at himself inwardly recoiling at his outfit. More fit for a jog in the forbidden Dog Park than for science. He rushes to the nearest closet. He always keeps a couple of outfits in the lab, ever since that incident involving the rogue back-scratcher during his second day in town.

With eyes screwed shut, he strips. Soon, he is back in a lab coat, flannel shirt, worn jeans, and Doc Martens—his second skin. He throws the sweats into the Hazardous Materials container. A quick glance around for a mirror reveals they have all been covered with cloth. Not wanting to disturb a possible experiment in-progress, Carlos makes his way to his desk.

He pulls out a blank notebook and a non-pen and begins taking notes on his experience. It is very important for him to get the facts down on paper in a cohesive and objective fashion. Something he can look at as a scientist only and not a victim.

As he writes, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _Someone is watching him._ He looks up and is eye level with Cecil, who grins at him from a picture hanging on the wall. Carlos is in the picture as well, and he has the same sweet grin on his face as Cecil. Carlos gasps and averts his eyes—only to have them land on an ominous purple mug with the words “Night Vale Community Radio” written on it. As he grabs the mug to put it out of sight, he hits the keyboard, which wakes the computer up from sleep mode and activates the screensaver, a rapid succession of pictures—all of Carlos and Cecil. One of the pictures shows them smiling in Radon Canyon—another with Cecil wearing Carlos’ lab coat holding a beaker upside down, and one of them looking into each others' eyes, utterly oblivious to the hooded figure slowly advancing behind them.

 _“You've got to be kidding me!”_ He drops the mug, not noticing or caring when the leftover contents spill across his keyboard. He jumps up from his desk with such force his chair falls over, taking him with it. His right hand takes the brunt of the impact. He flees, and he’s halfway up the steps that lead to the apartments for him and his team before he stops and sits, trying to get ahold of himself. “They are only pictures, they can’t hurt you,” he murmurs. After several minutes of deep breathing, he looks at his right hand, which throbs in pain. Once he pulls his sleeve down, he sees the bruises and slight cuts that wrap around his wrist. He stares at it, reliving the steel bite of the cuff as he struggled to escape. He pulls his sleeve up and wraps his arms around himself, refusing to look any more.

The logical part of Carlos’ brain finally catches up and starts to interpret the data that he has just fled from. It reasons that even though it would be possible for Cecil to have planted all the evidence of their “relationship,” it is highly unlikely. This, coupled with the three-hundred-and-some page fax, just adds significantly more evidence to Cecil’s claim. Occam’s razor clearly states that when dealing with competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected. Therefore—

“No!” Carlos shouts.

For once in his life, he doesn’t care what science says. He can’t simply discount what happened that morning. Can’t discount the predatory look Cecil gave him, the intimate way he violated him despite Carlos’ sobs and pleas.

Carlos lays his head on his knees, hands gripping his hair. Too overloaded to cry, he rocks gently back and forth, willing the turmoil in his mind to subside. But it doesn’t. He had truly believed that being back in his lab with his lab coat on would change things. That it would give him the ability to science his way out of this. But looking at his shaking hands, he knows that for once, he can’t.

This realization should be terrifying and it is, but it is also freeing. Henry had asked him to seek out Cecil and the Glow Cloud if he failed finding answers on his own. Carlos thought it would at least have taken him a few months before he would even consider bringing in his other scientists, let alone giving up. But here he is, a few hours later, considering that very option.

He pulls out his keys, looking for the bright magenta key to his apartment. As expected, it isn’t there. Just up the stairs he is currently resting on and at the end of the hall is his apartment. It’s still possible that Cecil is lying and that Carlos still lives there. Or that the current resident can tell him why he moved out. Or maybe he just got a new key, since the old one always had a disconcerting smell of sulfur to it. As a scientist he should explore all the options. But he can’t even bring himself to move.

He looks from the darkness of the staircase to the warm glow of his lab. But it isn’t _his_ lab, not really. The equipment is too advanced and the Carlos in charge of it is not the same man. Carlos walks back into the inviting atmosphere, but he’s not staying. He heads straight for the door. He’s sick of chasing ghosts. Or perhaps it’s he that is the ghost.

Outside, Carlos sees the first few pale tendrils of sunrise coming from the horizon. He checks his car clock, which reads 5:34am, and his heart nearly stops. It’s been 8 hours since he returned to Night Vale and this time there was no time skip. _What if Cecil isn’t waiting for him? How could he possibly find the Glow Cloud on his own?_ Carlos feels the desperation clawing at his stomach but doesn’t let that shake his resolve. Driving there takes much longer than normal due to an inordinate amount of hooded figures wandering the streets.

By the time Carlos pulls into the Arby’s, he is covered in a fearful sweat. Thankfully, Carlos immediately spots the ambulance as it is the sole vehicle still in the parking lot. No one seems to be inside, so he cautiously steps out of his car and walks towards the vehicle. Cecil sits with his back resting against the front of the ambulance. His is still in the hospital’s scrubs and his complexion ashen. Cecil’s eyes dart over to Carlos and he gives him a warm but very brittle smile. He stands up slowly, and his movements stiff.

“I think I’m ready to see the Glow Cloud now, Cecil.”

Cecil nods, but he is not meeting Carlos’ gaze. His eyes linger on a spot about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. Carlos turns, following his gaze, but sees nothing except the slowly rising sun.

“Good. Well, I was going to call him, but my cell phone started leaking this black substance. It must have been all the traveling. It is really surprising it made it outside Night Vale at all without spontaneously combusting. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll go to the radio station and grab one of the back-up cells they provide,” Cecil speaks all in one breath, his voice warbling with the strain of keeping his emotions in check.

Carlos agrees, thankful that Cecil is not trying to get Carlos to go with him. In fact, all of Cecil’s typical enthusiasm is absent, and he practically retreats to the ambulance. But before he can do more than put it into drive, the ground begins to shake. Then a series of squishy thuds can be heard growing louder and closer. Cecil steps out of the ambulance and points into the distance.

Carlos looks and sees to see a giant multi-colored glowing cloud advancing upon them and dropping various and sundry dead animals on its way. “How did it know where I was?”

Cecil shrugs looking as bewildered as Carlos. “Perhaps it has been expanding its telepathic field again,” Cecil says.

When the Glow Cloud is just on the other side of the parking lot, the animals suddenly stop falling. It pulses ominously, turning bright chartreuse. **“Carlos the Scientist,”** the Glow Cloud intones, **“step forward.”**

Carlos fights the sudden urge to look to Cecil for support and steps forward.

**“Stand still, and I shall return to you your mortal memories. Incomplete, inconsistent, and pathetic as they are. This will not hurt you any more than the pain of your own existence.”**

Wait, pain of my _what_?” Carlos asks, feeling alarmed.

But the Glow Cloud’s glow intensifies until Carlos can barely see anything through his squinting—although he does notice Cecil doesn’t seem to be affected. Then a beam of light—even brighter than that of the cloud—shoots forth, enveloping Carlos and setting his nerves on fire. He feels his body being lifted before it is hurled back down onto the concrete. And then his world goes black.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks we are getting very close to the end. And don't worry, there really will be some comfort. As always any comments, questions, constructive criticisms are absolutely treasured by me. Thanks to all of you for being so supportive!!


	8. Falling Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos recovers from the Glow Cloud's benevolent and painful gift of memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here it is! I said I would never abandon this story and meant it. Thanks to all of you who have sent me positive vibes along the way in the form of kudos, comments, Tumblr asks, etc. Each and every one gives me such joy! Thanks to all for reading!

Swirls of cold flame sear Carlos’ flesh before burying deep into his brain. This reignites the neurons that hold the memories of the last few years of his life. Firing electrical signals, they reconnect to their lost siblings. Images, sounds, smells, textures flit by piecemeal at first, then coming in larger and larger chunks as they bombard his mind. His head throbs in time with his heart. The pain is exquisite.

Gradually, Carlos becomes viscerally aware. He is flat on his back, lying on hard asphalt, limbs twitching spasmodically. In fact, all parts of his body feel as if they are functioning independently. Bits of him twitch in one direction while others jerk in another. He can’t control it, nor stop it. He can smell singed hair and flesh. His ears are plugged, and there is an acrid taste in his mouth. He tries to open his eyes, but the attempt causes another rush of pain and disjointed memories to surge around his head, causing him to, once again, black out.

He awakens when his ears pop quite painfully. The first thing he hears is the sound of quiet chanting. _Of Cecil’s chanting._ Carlos doesn’t know what has happened to him or when and where he is. His mind is still filled with a confetti of sensations, all flying past too quickly for him to catch any of them. But what he does register is that his boyfriend is fervently chanting a protection spell in classical Latin, presumably to aid Carlos.

He lies still – if you discount the uncontrollable spasms in his limbs – for a few more minutes,  gathering his strength. Despite the agony and utter confusion, his instinct is to let Cecil know that he is okay – or not so much okay as alive and lucid. So, finally, with much strength of will, he opens his eyes. They take a moment to focus, but when they do, they see Cecil, who sits about a foot away, chanting furiously. He doesn’t notice that Carlos is awake.

Carlos understands that whatever has happened to him, he must be very hurt, and that any attempt to move would be a foolish and undoubtedly painful endeavor. Nevertheless, he reaches a hand towards Cecil. As expected, the throbbing and spasms increase. He lets out a strangled moan, and the sound succeeds in getting Cecil’s attention.

Cecil is suddenly there, anxiously hovering over him, long black hair almost touching Carlos’ face. _Almost touching, but not._ Carlos’ body feels touch-starved, and he stubbornly moves one hand until it is clutching Cecil’s odd-looking uniform. “Cecil,” he rasps in a voice ravaged, unbeknownst to him, by the lightning that scorched it.

Cecil’s eyes widen in uncertainty, but he slowly and cautiously wraps Carlos in his arms. Carlos lets himself be held for a long time. His brain feels as though it’s in the process of downloading, so he passively lets it.

Cecil looks at Carlos, eyes shining with unshed tears. Carlos finds the strength to pull his boyfriend closer, wanting nothing more than to kiss those tears away. Cecil sighs in response, hands sliding down Carlos’ back.

_**Carlos is naked and trapped. Cecil looms over him, rubbing against him with his own naked form. Carlos is crying and pleading with him. Then he feels one of Cecil’s hands moving resolutely down his back.** _

Carlos shoves Cecil away and jumps up, heedless of the pain. This refiner's fire burning through his body. He must escape.

But before he can take a single step, the final neuron reconnects. The lost time comes blazing forth through his synapses, whiting out his mind for a moment. He falls to his knees, reeling with this overload of information. Cecil is still on the ground, making no motion to come closer. He is chanting again, but this time in English. The words, _“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry_ ,” repeated over and over again.

Time plods resolutely forward as his brain restarts. Finally, he shakes himself out of his stupor. Cecil, now silent, is crouched on the ground, looking away, eyes unfocused.

Carlos reaches out his hand to him – then instantly pulls it back. The memories that have resurfaced are still fresh in his mind, but so are the memories from that morning. He thinks of the night before and how amazing it was. He sees how, in the morning, Cecil had simply assumed that he had wanted to do it again. He can see now, in Cecil’s face, the innocence and eagerness to please. But it doesn’t make it better. And it doesn’t stop Carlos from feeling betrayed.

He is also furious with himself. He remembers driving through the fog and thinking how very similar its color was to his own car. He thought about stopping to observe it, but didn’t want his and Cecil’s pizza to get cold. If he had just stopped, he could have figured out the phenomenon before it affected him. Why hadn’t his scientific instincts kicked in? _Because he had been focused on eating pizza and having sex._

His mind is awash with data that he can’t reconcile. He’s so scared, but the one person he wants to reach out to is the one person causing that fear.

Cecil, too, is torn. He doesn’t feel he deserves to be, nor should he be allowed to be, anywhere near Carlos, but he desperately wants to offer him some sort of comfort.

They stare at each other, unsure what to do after having reached this morose stalemate.

Cecil, as so often is the case, finds his voice first. “Oh, Carlos, are you all right – umm...not all right _really_ or okay...but are you...just... _are you_?”

Carlos pats his sides weakly. “I think I am. I would need to run more tests to prove conclusively. And existence is always particularly hard...harder to...prove...” He peeters off, unable to muster his usual zeal for science.

Cecil nods, face drawn tight. He reaches a hand towards Carlos, who instinctively shrinks back – then immediately apologizes.

Cecil shakes his head with grim resolve. “Please don’t apologize to me, Carlos. I’m the one who's sorry. I didn’t know you had lost your memory. I thought that you were just – forget it, there is absolutely no excuse. I should have realized it. I should have stopped. I’m so incredibly sorry, Carlos. I completely understand if you want me to leave.”

He almost laughs. “What? Of course not, don’t be –” then realizes what Cecil is really implying and no longer sees any humor in the situation.

Could he ever trust Cecil again? Could he even stand going back into their bedroom again, much less sleeping next to Cecil? He doesn’t know. These thoughts rapidly overwhelm him, causing his adrenaline-fueled strength to falter – and he crumples back down on the asphalt.

For an instant, Cecil looks devastated. However, he is a consummate professional at receiving and delivering bad news. “Well, I still have to return the ambulance to Old Woman Josie’s. And you have the car. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having me there. It’s no big deal. In fact, maybe I will...or – really – whatever you...think.” He stumbles over the words.

Carlos isn’t sure, but he finds the thought of being bereft of Cecil worse than any of the alternatives. “No, you can – come back. Of course you can."

Cecil stands quickly and stops himself just as he instinctively moves to help Carlos up. This doesn’t prevent Carlos from flinching at the speed and proximity of his movements.

Cecil gives an awkward half-wave of farewell, before practically fleeing to the ambulance. Carlos is reminded of how Cecil used to act towards him, before they were a couple. He drives off, leaving Carlos still sprawled out on the ground. Carlos knows it must have taken all of Cecil’s restraint to do something so unchivalrous. _He’s too afraid to touch_ _me_ , thinks Carlos, _and I’m too afraid to let him_.

It takes Carlos a long time to pull himself together. When he does, he hobbles over to what he now knows is _their_ car. Just as he knows the spare change he found between the seats was Cecil’s, as were the candy wrappers and empty Cracker Jack boxes.  Cecil has a serious sweet tooth, and Carlos always indulges him any time they go out. He exhales loudly. It feels like something tore him apart and then sewed him back together. And he isn’t sure if all the pieces are in the right places. He can’t reconcile Cecil, the beautiful and doting boyfriend, with Cecil as  the brutal and terrifying monster. But he remembers both.

Cecil’s mind turns so fast, it feels like it's standing still. As a Night Vale native, he has dealt with innumerable horrible and terrifying things, but never something even remotely like this. He doesn’t think he could talk to anyone right now. He has half a mind to steal one of the time-traveling devices at the Museum of Forbidden Technologies. Although time traveling is no longer illegal, stealing a time machine is. And he can’t risk being re-educated or locked up in the abandoned mine shaft, not so long as Carlos still wants him there.

Carlos’ first order of business is to attend to his injuries. As a scientist, he’s used to treating different wounds as the result of an experiment gone awry or field research that won’t stay objective. Certainly, since arriving at Night Vale, he has seen more than his fair share of bumps, bruises, and burns. With his labcoat on, he can almost pretend that this too, is science-related. But the illusion is shattered as he strips down to his skin. Looking in the full-length mirror, he can’t stifle the gasp that comes from viewing his reflection.

Overall, he actually looks much better than he had predicted. No open wounds, charred flesh, or significant bruising – besides what was already present. What caused him to gasp is that, starting from his right shoulder and branching down and out, are strikingly white lines burned into his flesh. The pattern looks like an upside-down tree, a series of snowflakes, a gamma-ray burst. Carlos searches his brain for a moment before coming up with the correct name: a Lichtenberg figure. It must have been created when the Glow Cloud struck him with lightning. Normally the scars for Lichtenberg figures are red or pale pink, not the labcoat-white that his are. He can’t help but touch them, wincing slightly as his fingertips make contact with the tender flesh.

Carlos takes a long, hot shower. Disregarding the pain, he scrubs the smell of hospital, along with the entire day, down the drain. Afterwards he changes back into his lab clothes, despite their slightly charred nature. He can’t bring himself to enter the bedroom, even for a set of pajamas.   

Cecil walks into the house to find Carlos fast asleep on the sofa. All of the clean blankets, fresh from the dryer, are wrapped around him like a protective shell. Cecil tries to shut the door gently, but Carlos still startles awake.

“Oh, Cecil, hey. Sorry, I –” Carlos is interrupted by a fit of coughing, his throat still recovering from the lightning. “I didn’t think I would be able to sleep – uh – fall asleep so quickly.”

“It’s okay. I understand, Carlos.” He walks past Carlos and brings him back something from the dining room table a moment later. “Your phone. You may want to check it. I know the whole town was worried about you today, so I’m sure you have a lot of missed calls and texts.”

Carlos frowns at the brightly lit screen before setting it down. “I think I’ll wait till tomorrow before dealing with that.”

“Right, of course you wouldn’t want to deal with any of that now.” Cecil reaches to grab the phone from the gnarled wooden surface of the second-hand coffee table. But Carlos stops him.

“Cecil, it’s – okay. All right? It really is. Just leave it. I need the alarm clock on it anyway, since I  programmed my phone to use the most popular version of Night Vale Time.”

“I would say that that maybe you should consider taking a day or two off, but I know how you are,” Cecil says, the ghost of a grin on his face.

“Yes. Yes, you do,” Carlos responds, then shoves half the blankets to the floor. He gestures to the space next to him. Cecil sits, anxiously perched on the very edge of the cushions. “Can I hug you, Carlos? I don’t want to upset you again. I’ll be careful. I just would really like to hug you.”  

Carlos nods vigorously. But still whispers, “Yes, please be careful.”

Cecil carefully removes the blankets around Carlos, then gently and slowly pulls Carlos close. He is careful to keep his arms no more than a few inches down his boyfriend’s back.

Carlos feels himself crumble in warm embrace. The emotions he has been holding at bay surge forth. “I was so scared, Cecil,” he moans into the fabric of Cecil’s scrubs and begins to sob. “I thought you had kidnapped and raped me. I couldn’t remember anything from the past two years! I just thought that _you_ were crazy! That _Night Vale_ was! That _I_ was!!”

Cecil listens while holding Carlos tight and rocking him gently.

“The whole time in the back of my mind I felt that something was wrong,” Carlos continues. “But I was too scared. Even when faced with the proof of my amnesia. I was so frightened I couldn’t even think scientifically about it. If only I hadn’t been so weak, I –”

“Carlos, I must stop you there. You cannot blame yourself for this, surely! You had no memory, and you woke up chained to our bed! You can’t blame yourself for any of it.” Cecil smiles sadly. “Oh, my dear, sweet Carlos. No one is immune to fear. Not even scientists.”

Carlos shrugs. “Well, what about the night before, then? I was rational when I drove through the fog. I observed that it was maroon and strange, but did I take a single measurement of it? No! I didn’t even stop! Just kept driving through! And look what happened! I put both of us in danger! It could have been toxic and contained a poison that could have spread from me to you, killing both of us. I was careless, and, worse than that, I was _unscientific_.” 

Cecil hugs him even tighter. “Nothing that happened is because of any deficiency on your part. You’ve lived here long enough to understand that if you stopped to investigate every strange fog, then you or your team wouldn’t have time for anything else. That makes you an even better scientist because you’ve learned what is worth your time and what isn’t. And before you protest, waking up naked next to me with no memory would have been upsetting no matter what. But you wouldn't have run for your life if it wasn’t for how you woke up and what I – I did to you. And for that and everything you’ve been through, Carlos, I truly apologize.” He wants to keep going and apologize for every single moment that Carlos had to endure because of him. But he is barely holding himself together, and the one thing he can do for Carlos, besides offer comfort, is to not be a burden.

Carlos doesn’t speak for a long time. Sobbing silently, his head rests on Cecil’s broad shoulder with one arm around him and the other curled protectively around himself. Cecil blinks back tears, still refusing to to give in. The last thing Carlos needs is for Cecil to break down with the agony of his guilt. He can keep it back. _He has to_.

Finally, as memories from this morning start to circle ominously in his mind, Carlos stiffens slightly at Cecil’s proximity. Thankfully, he is saved the shame and awkwardness of asking his boyfriend to leave, because Cecil chooses that very moment to get up.

He had sensed the change in body language immediately, realizing he was no longer the comforting presence that his love so rightly deserved.

“I’m going to go to bed now. Are you…” Cecil trails off as he appraises the situation, Carlos, and his nest of blankets.

Carlos nods.

“Okay. Well, uh, night, Carlos.”

“Goodnight, Cecil,” He replies softly.

Cecil slips quickly to the bedroom. Once inside, he allows a long, shuddering breath to escape, but no tears. He can’t have Carlos being kept awake due to his crying. He strips their bed, throwing sheets, pillowcases, blankets, and the pair of handcuffs into the hazardous waste bin in his closet. He puts down fresh linens and then undresses, throwing his scrubs in the same bin. He takes a shower, trying to push from his mind the horror and corrosive feelings of guilt, just as they taught him to do in school, but it isn’t working. He hurt Carlos. And, oh, not so long ago he was inciting a man to madness for simply butchering Carlos’ perfect hair. Night Vale has ingrained in him the necessity of punishments for misdeeds, but where is his punishment? And as the tattoos of two fluffy black and white kittens clawing and biting into his flesh remind him, he so rightly deserves one.

The sofa Carlos is reclining on used to reside in the back of his lab. He had thought that it might make him feel more secure to sleep on something that was only attached to memories of late nights spent doing science. But all it does is make him feel more isolated.

As night deepens, he curls further in on himself. The eerie shadows that crawl across the walls with seemingly no identifiable source are, somehow, even eerier than usual. Every echoing scream emanating from outside is louder, more bloodcurdling. And Carlos aches to be near Cecil. Having Cecil hug him and tell him that the screams are just part of people doing nighttime bloodstone ceremonies…and nothing more. Or something more. But probably best not to worry about in either case.

Cecil is staring up at the ceiling trying to count the flowers on the wallpaper. Their constant twirling and leaping almost make a decent distraction. He would like nothing more than to comfort Carlos and try and try and try to make up for everything that has happened. But he knows the truth, that he doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near Carlos and that Carlos wouldn’t want him there anyway, so he keeps on counting the flowers.

The hours pass slowly, even by Night Vale standards, and the loneliness he feels only becomes more suffocating. Carlos can no longer stand it. He pushes off the mound of blankets, then pads on socked feet to their bedroom door. Opening it softly, he sees Cecil lying on the bed, wearing one of Carlos’ old science joke t-shirts, pale blue eyes staring at the ceiling.  After a second or two, Cecil notices Carlos’s presence.

He quickly scrambles upright, keeping the entirety of the bed between them, and asks a torrent of questions. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? Do you want the bed? Would it be better for you if I just left? I can leave. I can just grab a couple of things and –”

Carlos gently interrupts Cecil with an upraised hand, a hesitant gesture to him – and then to the bed. Cecil understands and nervously gets back in and under the covers. Carlos crosses the distance and is about to get in too when he hears the rustle of sheets. Cecil is trying to leave again.

Carlos gestures back to the bed, hands shaking slightly. “Please?” he finally manages. “Stay.” He then carefully slips into bed.

Cecil doesn’t understand why Carlos is here – _with him_. Surely he doesn’t want to be near him after what he’s done. But he can’t just leave Carlos either. His whole body is vibrating from all the conflicting emotions as he lies less than a foot from his beloved.

Carlos feels the bed shaking. He realizes what it means, but hesitates only a moment before he turns and throws his arms around him, laying his head on Cecil’s right shoulder.

Cecil flinches from the sudden movement, a dark part of him hoping that Carlos is enacting the revenge he so rightfully deserves. But as he feels Carlos’ strong arms tighten lovingly, he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t deserve this. He should move. He should leave before he does more untold physical and psychological damage to Carlos. But he can’t bring himself to move away. He doesn’t want to.

Carlos gratefully buries his head into Cecil’s chest, listening to the staccato rhythms of his heart. Cecil hesitates, then wraps his arms around Carlos who sighs softly, clinging tighter. Cecil hugs him close, carefully monitoring the placement of his hands.

Finally, Cecil can no longer rein back all that he feels, and the dam inside him breaks. He’s humiliated  and angry that he isn’t holding himself together for Carlos. He turns abruptly away from his beloved, covering his face with his hands as he completely breaks down.

“Oh, Carlos! I should have known! How could I not have realized?” he sobs. Words have always been Cecil’s shield. His failsafe in case of disaster. But hurting Carlos rips him apart on the cellular level, and the words cannot remain inside.

Carlos suddenly feels horribly selfish. It was only logical not to consider Cecil’s feelings when he thought Cecil was his rapist.

But what had Carlos done the moment he had gotten his memory back – after writhing on the ground in agony, that is? He hadn’t once considered how Cecil was feeling. His boyfriend, who had not hesitated in leaving Night Vale for the second, or more likely the first time, in order to find him. And when Cecil called him in the psychiatric unit, Carlos had screamed at him, calling him a rapist as Cecil sobbed. Carlos won’t blame himself for the accusation, but he can blame himself for not instantly rectifying it the moment he got everything back. Knowledge of what really happened was Carlos’s life raft, but to Cecil, it’s more like an anchor pulling him down.

Only moments ago, Carlos had felt so lost in his own pain and confusion that this had actually helped him to see things clearly. And what he sees is his love curled up on their bed, long black hair askew, sobbing. Carlos wraps his arms around Cecil, who meekly tries pushing him away, but Carlos won’t allow it, can’t allow it.

He whispers into his ear, “I forgive you, Cecil.”

“But how can you? After what I did to you!” Cecil exclaims, breaking out of his embrace.

“Cecil,” Carlos places a hand on either side of Cecil’s face, “you had no idea! All of the data you had available supported your conclusion. If our positions had been the reverse, I would’ve done the same thing. _Oh, Gods_!” Carlos’ jaw drops at the horrible accuracy in his statement. “I would’ve done the same thing to you! Don’t you see? It’s not your fault! It’s that meteorological phenomenon’s fault!”

Cecil shakes his head savagely. “No, you wouldn’t have! And anyway I’m supposed to know these things! I’m your boyfriend and the “Voice of Night Vale”. I didn't even realize how bad things were. I mean, I was just sitting there doing my radio show while you were being put in a psych ward!"

"Hmmm, I really don't think that Station Management would have been very happy with you if  you had left early, do you?" Carlos replies.

“Well, no, but-”

"Didn't one of your interns - Laura?-- leave early for a family emergency once?

"Yes-"

"And isn't it true that after the cleanup, Station Management ensured that not even her spirit can leave the station now?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

“Just that there is no direct causation between your actions, or lack thereof, and my outcome. There are too many confounding variables. Even if you had tried to leave, it would have never been allowed. Who would have come to my rescue then? And furthermore, who would have come to yours?”

Cecil looks doubtful, but before he can protest again, Carlos pulls him even closer. "I forgive you, _mi vida_. I love you.” He covers Cecil’s face in messy, urgent kisses. “I forgive you. It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt. With your help, I know I can work through this. But I do not blame you.”

Cecil’s body starts shaking again, much more violently. Carlos lifts his head up, only to see his boyfriend wracked with silent sobs. “I’m sorry,” Cecil chokes out.

Carlos places a hand lightly on Cecil’s face and leans forward, kissing away the streaks made from his tears. He doesn’t let his grip slacken even once during Cecil’s breakdown.

Cecil looks into the encouraging eyes and says brokenly, “You’re much better than I deserve. Thank you for forgiving me, even though I can’t forgive myself.”

Carlos nods sadly. “Then we’ll just have to work on healing from this together.”

They lie in the darkness, surrounding each other. Carlos feels himself slowly relax. The tension oozing out of him for the first time since this ordeal began. The fear isn't gone. But it has retreated to the background. He nestles even closer, receiving solace in the tranquil space created by the two of them. His gratitude for being here -fully present - in this moment, is unmeasurable. Even for a scientist.

Cecil’s tattoos seem to have reached a tentative truce. Instead of attacking him, they crowd against every place where Carlos’ skin touches his own. They offer as much comfort as two-dimensional ink depictions on flesh can. The scorpions stroke Carlos’ arms with pincers tightly shut. The kittens rub and lick the exposed skin on his side, where his flannel shirt has ridden up. Carlos can’t actually feel any of this but gradually falls asleep, gently stroking the tattoos to show his appreciation.  

Cecil leans into Carlos' light touches allowing himself to unwind, thanking the Gods below that his beloved scientist is home and safe. He can’t begin to drift off until he hears the deep, even breaths of Carlos laced with the occasionally indistinct mutterings of scientific equations. This is his nighttime lullaby, indispensable.

With his head buried in Carlos' soft locks, he whispers, "Goodnight, dear Carlos, goodnight," before falling into a dreamless slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. I can't believe I am actually completing this finally! I mean, I started this story back when Jeffrey Cranor (uncredited) was the voice of Carlos and we knew nothing about him independent of what Cecil told us!! I am not a fast writer by any means, and envy anyone who can keep to even a loose schedule with their work. However, this was and is a labor of love for me. My Carlos and Cecil have become so real to me. And I love talking about them and Night Vale. 
> 
> I sincerely and truly appreciate all your comments and support here and on Tumblr and in real life. Especially my friend Laura, [alienswamp](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alienswamp), for threatening to finish the last chapter herself and post it, if I didn't do it, since I had told her enough times how it ended. 
> 
> Also [here](http://twistedsifter.com/2012/03/lichtenberg-figures-lightning-strike-scars/) is information on Lichtenberg figures, which are quite real and truly remarkable. My thought was that eventually Carlos' would begin to emit a faint glow and move and twist into scientific patterns and shapes, like Cecil's tattoos.
> 
> Comments, reviews are love!


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